NEW! SPOOKY! Halloween Campfire story! The Smartphone CEO who seldom touched his laptop! #SandtonTerroristAttack
The
Smartphone CEO who seldom touched his laptop.
A fictional Horror story by: Lebogang K. Tlou
Published By: $LNBP
From the present, the unfolding future felt predestined to collide with a period of civil unrest in the domain of the Smartphone CEO.
Clive had been promoted to CEO in the
Smartphone company at which he had been an employee for nearly three decades.
“Would you like another cup of tea, sir?” said Amogelang – an eternally-young woman who
had recently been promoted from chief office administrator, to Executive Administrator.
Amogelang
delighted in knowing when to offer the Smartphone CEO a fresh pot of tea.
Smartphone CEO Clive drank upwards of 3 pots of tea a day – straying strictly
short of partaking of seven pots, always reasoning that pots of tea are magical
items in our everyday isekai sagas as a species.
“Yes, please,
Amogelang,” Clive started, “do delegate the pot to meet us in the car, please?”
And in a swift flurry, the Smartphone CEO boardroom cleared out, as Clive and
Amogelang set off towards the car bay at a gentle strut. Amogelang broke the
silence.
“Smartphone CEO, sir, we are meeting with the diplomat at the hour, and all
arrangements are above water at stellar seas,” reported Amogelang, who paused –
mostly for theatre.
“There has been a
backlash over how our devices have been utilized by governments around the
globe: some hack journalist from Cape Town has been going Ye on social media,
revealing our secrets. It’s partially
our own fault, Smartphone CEO, sir.”
“Enlighten us, Amogelang,” spoke Clive in jesting tones: “To what end are we at
fault for having given a young, poor South African nobody the chance at
becoming something worth being: only to see them quit once upon a random day,
on account of some imaginary moral consciousness realization – and suddenly he’s
Ye?
“Please. Authorize
that loser a 3% increase in his wage, and send clear and crisp word that his
tone is to adopt a more docile and appreciative frequency really quick, lest
our arrangement be Ye’d out in the same wise.”
“Affirmative, Smartphone CEO,” said Amogelang, as they arrived at the car bay
to find a selection of fine, luxury cars arranged in order – each with an open
door at the arrival of Smartphone CEO Clive, who then asked Amogelang:
“Which one of these marvelous artefacts from our age drives itself defensively
if need be?”
“This one,” Amogelang said briskly, as she ushered Smartphone CEO Clive into a
one-of-a-kind Tesla.
“What of my children?” Clive asked Amogelang.
The door had seamlessly closed itself once both Amogelang and Smartphone
CEO Clive had been seated, and almost instantly buckled up; as though by Tesla under-earth
magic items discovered by the boring company.
“Each is with their loving mother, our respective three wives Mei, Parvati and
Karabo-from-the-block, K-Wizzle the Gizzle For Rizzle,” Amogelang acted up.
Clive ignored the reassurance and egged on: “Yes, but,
when do I get to just live at home and be a father to my children, and a
husband to my wives, while the companies I employ to work for my company demand
that I show up to these half-assed, self-glorifying events of imperceptible
honor? Why on earth did that ratchet display of public masturbation of a ceremony
command two hours of our time – away from a party of our most dearly beloved;
to deal with some fat politician on the other side of the world, metaphorically,
who is easily just silenced with more money?
“Did you hear that
government diplomat from that country? Using our own devices to tell us that we
should allow their merciless demons to murder a journalist doing their job? See
to it that he gets what he envisions for another in my presence,” Smartphone
CEO Clive finished.
“Done,” said
Amogelang, pulling out her Smartphone, texting saliently, and returning it to
its special pouch in her purse of the day.
She had chosen it specifically for today because it had been gifted to
her by Smartphone CEO Clive, who always got so passionate when he sipped on his
tea. Clive always insisted that cups be
cleared, even when cold; so Amogelang had very quickly in the early days of her
career in the employ of Smartphone CEO Clive realized how amazingly refreshing
a cold cup of super sweet tea truly is.
Amogelang knew how
dirty a day’s work could get: it was all a part of the job of belonging to an
order on how good business ought to be worked out by good business people; and
it was all just good business.
Amogelang had long
ago decided that the livelihood of the daughter whom she shared in common with
now Smartphone CEO Clive comes first – and she was grateful to see how Clive prioritized
his children over all else in the world, quite literally inclusive of life nje.
Amogelang had made
peace with her complicity in truly dark workings many a time – the sort of
twisted tale as would make a Halloween campfire of humans fear the night for
all eternity.
That Amogelang got
out of bed the day after her first of a billion secrets was born into this
world showed her how resilient the human being could be should they choose
to. What astounded Amogelang the most,
is that anyone could claim to be behind those skeletons, and there would be
evidence to prove their claims.
A life in a cell –
far removed from love, comfort, and Prudence: that was no real choice at all to
Amogelang; who carried on for Prudence, who was turning eighteen in two days.
“It’s Prudence’s
eighteenth birthday in two days, yes?” affirmed Clive.
“Indeed,” Amogelang replied. “She’s
getting the contracted rich daughter package all inclusive of a hard deal,
salvation, and one do-over. Speaking of
that Do-Over, -”
“I will see it
done,” Smartphone CEO Clive said, cutting Amogelang off – as their Tesla
announced that it had arrived at the airport private hangars.
Amogelang exited
the car first, and set off to the usual pace, and Clive caught up.
“Shall it be done as per the prenuptial contract?” Smartphone CEO Clive ascertained
from Amogelang.
“It already is done, Clive,” Amogelang snapped curtly. “Flight scene’s up, and
you’re doing that thing where you harp on about things which you already know
are done, and that I saw to it personally: she’s my daughter, too, Mr. Perfect
Father second only to God on earth.”
“I apologize for making you feel as though I have micromanaged you,” Clive said
earnestly. “I am sorry, and thank you for your pardoning, Amogelang. Yes. Flight scene: the one where we have sex in
the cockpit in those tribal masks?”
“Good deflection,” Amogelang blushed. “Prudence is on board already; she felt
like turning eighteen in Sandton.
The flight from
Cape Town to Johannesburg is always amazing when traveling on the jet belonging
to Smartphone CEO Clive. All of Clive’s
children – and their mothers, his wives in addition to Amogelang – made frequent
use of the Smartphone Jet.
The Smartphone Jet
was a gift from the giant Superpower nation across Eurasia, sustained by a
lifetime of fuel in fair compensation for services rendered. Smartphone CEO Clive had a finger in every
single pot of honey across the globe.
Very few people
had seen how beautiful one percent in every part to a hundredth percent of
civilization was outside of Smartphone CEO Clive’s ring of society. Conspiracy theorists ran amok with wild
notions on the very existence of persons on earth even remotely akin to how
great Smartphone CEO Clive knew himself to be per precise cultivation and
socialization into this domain.
At Johannesburg
International airport, a humble group of people left a private jet, and entered
the airport – and nobody ever saw any one of them ever again, as though
privilege could absolutely vanish into thin air. A family of Colour boarded the
Gautrain bound for Sandton.
“Beloved, do we remember where we parked the car?” Amogelang whispered casually
to Smartphone CEO Clive, who had presented her with the keys to the car which
they had both already received notifications on where the car would be
found. Prudence’s car would be the
casual one beside it, of course, and she had her own set of keys.
“Dad, mommy, could we maybe hang out for the day? I know there was that alert
and all to avoid Sandton this weekend, but we have all lived on this earthly
domain long enough to know bluster from fluff, and you both might be away in two
days, and I know it’s considered bad-luck to celebrate your birthday in advance
per part of my genetic make-up’s oral tradition, still, can we hang out for the
day?” Prudence whined, though it seemed as though nothing had occurred in the
Gautrain cabin the family had selected at random.
Nobody had heard
anything amiss: what was considered normal had always fascinated Amogelang
about mundane humanoids on the planet earth; their lives were often so one
dimensional.
Amogelang took
Clive by the hand, and looked him sternly in the eye: “Say yes to some family
time, family man, and we’ll yet find use for those exotic masks you speak of,”
she said seductively.
“Daughter,” Clive declared at the top of his voice, “Today, I shall be as I
have been every day of your life for eighteen years this Halloween: you’re my
favorite recurring terror; and I delight in indulging your every whim. First,
please, can we eat somewhere desirable?”
“Spur’s good?” said Prudence.
“Indeed, for we are people with a taste for life,” Clive chirped gleefully.
Amogelang had been absent-mindedly taking care of business on both her and
Clive’s smartphone devices.
Business never
stops. The world could end: and, as an indestructible
Hydra, business would carry on growing more branches for each one lost on its
quest to obtaining the absolute form. That’s
life, though, Amogelang thought, as their small family party arrived at
Sandton Station, and made their way to Spur.
At Spur, 30
minutes into what had been an enticing to behold banquet of a feast held by a
corpulent father, his robust wife, and their gloriously plumpening gem of a
daughter – who, to the objective eye, looked no younger than 21 at the very
least: a bright, eye-searing light erupted, as though from thin air; and then
there was absolutely nothing for kilometers where there had moments prior been
a flourishing civilization.
In what used to be
a restaurant, Amogelang stirred back to consciousness: and found herself alive
at the epicenter to an unprecedented act of terrorism. Sandton had just been blown up, and her
husband lay in two halves on her one side; while her only daughter’s head sat
in what used to be her mother’s lap, but was now either a miraculous mystery,
or Karma making her live through her own death.
I guess Clive
had seven pots of tea again,
thought Amogelang – who began laughing, almost hysterically, until her
eyes lost their spark and her body fell limp as it folded into a heap
surrounded by the bloodied, gnarly shells of its loved ones.
Happy Halloween.
☝🏾This is beautifully written indeed!
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