The Job

Why does it take forever to walk a single mile? he thought.

Webb Charles was walking on a long, seemingly endless, road outside of Guyton. The sun beat down on his back and the heat baked everything in sight. His car had broken down a quarter mile back.

No job is worth this, not even a journa-

Web’s thought was cut off by the miraculous sight of a lone ranch house. On it’s porch, sat two rocking chairs with a table in between. In one of the chairs there sat a Garfield-looking creature that had a fixed glare as if an invisible being was pulling it’s tail. In the other chair, however, sat an elderly woman with silver hair piled on top her head. On the table, beside her, sat a cool glass of sweet tea and a book. What sat against the wall on the other side of her, was a rifle.

Seeing this, Web walked all the more cautiously up to the house.

“Ms.M-Mayberry?” Web asked with a slight stutter.

The old woman simply glared through the thin glasses resting on her nose in his direction and said, “You’re late.”

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