The life of James McArthur was like a stone being thrown into a pond; stagnant and motionless, and all of a sudden filled with ripples, sending the marine life scrambling for safety and upsetting everything around it.
Today was no different, he had been fired from his job as a goods unloader at Walmart ( His fifth job in two months ). Things had been going well for McArthur at Walmart at the beginning, until today. He thought that the job at Walmart could finally provide him with a stable source of income ( $ 7.50 per hour ), and even fancied settling down in the town of Curbsville, heck, maybe even start a family. But he was dead wrong.
As McArthur trundled along the seedy, accustomed path home, dragging his filthy, thorn sneakers along the concrete, his heart cried out for justice.
It certainly wasn't my fault that the forklift was broken, and it most definitely wasn't my fault that that old dingbat Mr Coggins wandered into the unloading bay and got hit by that stupid forklift, McArthur said to himself.
Apparently, the manager of the Walmart store McArthur worked at, whatever his name was, was reluctant to compensate Coggins, and so instead went with the most convenient option; firing McArthur. The manager promised Coggins that McArthur would get the boot as the latter was "disgraceful" and "didn't represent the spirit and hospitality of Walmart". That seemed a good enough apology for Coggins, apparently, and everyone went home happy that day. Except McArthur.
Truth be told, McArthur did apologise to Coggins profusely and even offered to pay his medical bills, which McArthur knew very well he couldn't afford. Coggins, however, acting like the snot brain he was, said he was taking no compensation from a " whippersnapper" whom had "no respect for elderly".
McArthur grunted. He was the sort of man who never looked for trouble, but trouble on the other hand, always had a way of finding him. Karma, perhaps, he thought to himself. McArthur glanced upward to the sky, it was well into the night, 11.30pm at the very least, and it looked like a storm was starting to brew.
He stopped, and sniffed the air. He thought that, for some strange reason, the air had begun to smell a little funny.
Smells like rotten tomatoes and...and-
McArthur thought hard. He knew it smelled like a food , but somehow he just couldn't put his finger on its name.
Before he could think any further, however, thunder rattled overhead and a bolt of lightning raced towards where McArthur stood frozen on the spot. Just before he vanished into thin air, he remembered the name of the food that had evaded his memory earlier... Burnt casseroles...
Hello dear readers, I hope you've enjoyed the two chapters so far. I'm still an amateur writer in training, so forgive me if my quality is not up to your standards. Tell you what... message me your criticism and suggestions so that I may improve my writing skills.
P.S. PART THREE ( MARIA ) is still in the developmental stages, but I'll do my best to release it as soon as possible!
KEEP READING AND WRITING THOSE BOOKS!!! SEE YA'!
