John hated his job, standing outside the mall’s only fried-chicken-fast-food-joint clucking while high school kids walk by pointing fingers, laughing, and snapping pictures. “That is it!” He screamed one night after throwing his chicken suit across the room. “I’m quitting!”
The next day, as he was about to turn in his suit, his boss appeared before him. “John, you’re no longer the chicken.”
“What?” John shrieked. He didn’t want to be the chicken didn’t mean he’s quitting, besides, firing is worse than quitting.
“Oh, you aren’t fired, you’ve been promoted.” His boss said and shoved a red duffel at John. “You’re Santa.”
Each week, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple hosts Friday Fictioneers where we’re challenged to write a piece of flash fiction in 100 words, more or less, based on the picture above.