Short Stories, Flash Fiction, and Poems

Warzone

She never saw it coming. . .

The blurry flash of green still haunted her even as she clocked out. The previous four hours were still burned into her mind as she packed away her things. It had all happened so fast.

She could still hear the desperate cries of her colleagues  giving out orders and call for help as attack after attack after attack came in. They were being hit from all sides: drive by attacks, far off threats, and close combat. They were drowning. . . and it was a warzone.

There were days that Taylor loved her job. She enjoyed the people she worked with and she enjoyed the challenge. There were often bad days- days that made her feel like giving up and leaving- but there were, rarely, good days. She held onto those ones.

She was close to her peers, but she was closer to two of them. Reagan and April. Her and Reagan both got along the second they met- they were cut from the same cloth! And April? Well, Taylor had a secret crush on her, which she was sure was all in her head.

There were many factors to Taylor's job that civilians overlook or ignore. She has to be patient. That was the first thing. Her mother was always telling her that patience was, in fact, a virtue and one she needed to practice.

The second thing was standard. There was an order to her job that civilians especially didn't understand. Demand goes in order and must not be skipped. She couldn't just jump to her next task without, first, completing the first one. If she did. . . then progress would be behind and with the war they were fighting. . . they didn't have that kind of time for such a delay.

The third was safety. Her job was dangerous. What with stragglers and angry civilians, she risked both emotional and physical damage everyday. From yelling, to flailing, the job never got any easier. From technical difficulties, to misjudgment, the job, if possible, became harder. From small parties of enemy insurgents to sudden large parties in a flash second. . . the job became scarier. Nevertheless, both her and her friends pushed on. That was the only way.

Her job was a warzone- a spontaneous catastrophe that was a constant and unstabalized threat ready to blow up at any second. She couldn't afford any casualties. None of them could.

Each and everyday was always presented anew. There were slow days- days that were as smooth as silk- and then there were chaotic days- days where insurgents awaited with the sudden craving for blood.

Taylor's days were tough and long, but in the end, when she clocks out and receives that little paper at the end of every other week, she remembers that it's worth it.

It's worth getting up every morning and heading to work. Its worth walking in through those welcoming doors and being greeted by her friends. It's worth clocking on and taking the orders of loyal customers. It's worth being a Starbucks Barista. Why? Because of the challenge. The fast paced, brutal, and hardcore challenge. The Warzone.