Larry Harry and the Heifer
My entry into the brilliant @carolkean's Heifer contest
Ramun Hawk, Jr. dragged giggles in his wake like toilet paper from a public restroom floor. It was the name, of course. An objective observer might put his age at around 150 or so, and while his bones appeared fragile as a finch’s, the only similarity he bore to the mighty raptor was his caricature-inspiring schnozz.
Heathor Sekmetti, only marginally more youthful though magnitudes more hearty, shot a warning glare around the office, from her entrenchment before Mr. Hawk’s door. Waggling tongues claimed she had been the Senior Hawk’s secretary back when women who answered phones and made appointments could still be called secretaries. When they didn’t demand loftier monikers like, “Adjunct Collaboratory Representative,” an invented self-appellation if ever one was.
“Larry?”
He jerked at the sound of his name. Or maybe it was just a cat yakking up sandpaper. A guy could hope.
“I’ve received your request for time off and I’m afraid we won’t be able to grant that.” Blood red lips slithered off nicotine-stained teeth in a ball-shriveling facsimile of a smile.
Dear God. Maybe the stories were true. Surely a pack a day for even a century was insufficient to coarsen a voice so. “Mee-” Reddening as his voice broke in front of his coworkers, he tried again. “Ms. Sekmetti--um--I already cleared it with Darren Clark that he... could cover... my... work… load...” Larry trailed off, his attention torn between the crackling fury of the She Beast, and the dark patches spreading from Darren’s pits as they ejaculated fear-sweat.
“Thaaaaank you, Larry. I hadn’t eeeeven considered someone else could handle your workload. If ooooonly I had a lit-tle more experience at my position, I could be as knooowledgable as yooouuuu about it.” The sneer in her words was evident enough, but she still threw in a lip curl just to be sure. A scarlet worm hunching so high it nearly disappeared into a forested nostril.
Larry got back to work.
Lawrence Harrison tossed back another shot. Laughing at Mr. Hawk. Not like he’d been the only one, but still, what had he been thinking? Well, he’d been thinking that he’d laugh at someone else’s name for once. In his eight months at Hawk Industries he’d heard it a thousand times, and before that he’d heard it a million from kindergarten through--well--through today. “Oh my God! Lawrence Harrison? Like, Larry Harry?” No, not like “Larry Harry” at all; Jesus, who shortens a surname like that? Another shot.
He was done. Done, done, done. That bitch had completely humiliated him. A goddamn secretary! Everyone acted like she was untouchable. The sacred cow of Hawk Industries. Not Larry Harry--er--Harrison. He’d fix her wagon right and proper. Cow. Heifer. Heathor.
Finding himself deposited none-too-gently onto the sidewalk outside the pub, Larry Harry paused--gasped a deep breath--and exploded with laughter once again.
Monday morning, Larry was the one with sweat coursing down his sides. “Heifer” Sekmetti was downing the last of her coffee, and still seemed normal, well, for her. He wondered if he’d put enough of the drug in the cup for a woman her size?
Hathor Sekhmet, aka Heathor Sekmetti, took in the wavering room. Something was wrong, but also? Oh. So. Right. She hadn’t felt this way in centuries--millenia. The flush of intoxication, the blur of boundaries, she was drunk and she liked it. But bitterness weighed on her burgeoning euphoria. All this time. Protecting him from others like him. Weak ones. Ruled by their desire for power, yet utterly incapable of wielding it responsibly. Give them an inch, they take a handful of ass in a tight skirt, maybe tweak a nipple in the break room. She was awake for the first time in forever, and she was through keeping the wolves at bay.
Stumbling as she rose, Hathor turned to Ramun Hawk’s big oak door. Men and their wood. Gathering herself, she kicked, once, hard, at the unlocked slab. It flew open and Ramun trembled at her filling his doorway.
“Iiiiiiii quit!”
The room was filled with gaping mouths and dead silence as “Heifer” made her exit. The chorus of battling chainsaws trailing her seemed to be laughter. A cautious jubilation took hold in the outer office. “Did you sees” and “Can you believes” exchanged with muted glee.
Inside his private sanctuary, Amun Ra, aka Ramun Hawk (both Junior and Senior), called up his accounts and began to sell off the stock in his company. No way he could run it without his mother, and he knew well the revolt he would have on his hands once layoffs commenced. Without the support of the heavenly cow, Hathor; without the bloodthirsty warrior, Sekhmet to protect him, he could only run.
Or at least, shuffle quickly.
Author’s note: Hathor was mother and sometimes also daughter of Ra, and Sekhmet was Hathor in her form as the angry eye of Ra. In the Book of the Heavenly Cow (first discovered in part in the tomb of Tutankhamen) Ra has grown old and feeble, and mankind revolts against him. He sends Hathor in the warrior form of Sekhmet to slaughter the rebels. When she gets out of hand, Ra dyes all the beer in Egypt red so she thinks it's the blood she’s come to crave and drinks it. Once she's happily buzzed, the killing ends.
Inspired by the Book of the Heavenly Cow
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Bound
First Night
Restoration
Peace
Let us Gather by the River
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@originalworks
I don't get why he didn't work. He should have! I think @unprovoked is offline right now. Perhaps he broke down...
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