Writing Contest Prompt for M 6/22 from Jim: snakes-in-the-grass

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Happy #WriterMonday, I hope you had a safe and Happy Weekend. Today’s #WritingPrompt is

lunch

Use it to inspire a piece of writing, any length, any style, and then post what you write either as a contest entry below:

or as a non-contest entry on the Shoot da Breeze page:

Shoot da Breeze

You never know.  You might get published in a future issue of Bamboo Ridge  : )

Here’s my draft for today.

Lunch Break

“Well no, but you know, I get it.  When these guys are all worked up before they do it, it’s unreal that they can sit down and write something at all.  Who can think straight when you like that?  For me, though, if I was gonna kill myself, I think I’d actually be too lazy to write a note.”

Chan found this mildly funny.  Victor Yamamoto was not lazy about anything.  Well, with the exception maybe of filling out departmental paper work.  Chan could relate to that.

Enfield’s office was huge, with its own conference room.  Obviously to be given an office this high up in the building, he had some clout.  Chan looked into the spotless half-bathroom.  There was even a kitchenette area with a refrigerator, a toaster oven, and a dual hotplate.

“Try look,” Yamamoto said.  “Get Vienna sausages in this pot.”  He touched it.  It was cold, but why have it here if not to heat up and eat?  Or had it been heated up and then not eaten?

Chan opened, then stepped back from the refrigerator door.  “Check this out.”

Yamamoto saw the bottle of Coke and the sandwich wrapped in plastic.

“This guy was gonna have lunch,” Yamamoto said.

“Looks that way.”

“But all of a sudden he wasn’t gonna have lunch,” said Yamamoto.  “Like maybe he got a phone call with some bad news?”

“Or,” said Chan, “it could be, that along with no suicide note, we have someone whose lunch plans were interrupted by a visitor.”

“Yeah, someone who’d thrown him off the building,” said Yamamoto.

He stuck his fingers into the pot and pulled out a sausage.  “You like one?”

Chan grimaced.  “No, no thanks, Vic.  And as of right now, this is a potential murder scene.”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” said Yamamoto, dropping the sausage back in the pot.  “But what a waste.  You know how much Vienna sausage costs these days?”

Chan, a widower since his wife Elaine had passed away, knew very well how much it cost, but eating a dead guy’s sausage?  Too strange.

Yamamoto went downstairs to tell the forensics people they were now needed upstairs.  Chan revisited Enfield’s desk.  Very carefully, with a handkerchief, he leafed through the papers on the desk.

One folder contained reports on home sales for each person with the company.  Enfield was performing well above average, but he wasn’t the only one.

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