Smoke Break (2021)

Brad stepped outside, the late afternoon sun doing little to alleviate the frustration gnawing at him. His shifts had been messed up for weeks now, all thanks to Ron, his boss. Today was supposed to be the day he confronted Ron, laid everything out, and demanded some respect. But as he leaned against the wall and lit his cigarette, he realized Ron wasn’t anywhere to be found.

He took a long drag, the smoke swirling lazily into the air as he exhaled. “Figures,” he muttered, shaking his head. Typical Ron—probably avoiding the confrontation altogether.

Meanwhile, his boss was far closer than Brad could have imagined—dangling, terrified, from one of the wiry strands of Brad’s thick beard. Somehow, Ron had shrunk, reduced to the size of a bug, now clinging for his life to the forest of dark hairs that framed Brad’s jaw. Each puff of smoke from Brad’s mouth was like a hot gust of wind, battering Ron’s fragile form, choking him as he tried to scream for help.

“Brad! I’m down here! Help me!” Ron’s tiny voice was drowned out by the rumble of Brad’s breath and the low crackle of the cigarette burning between his fingers. Every motion, every slight tilt of Brad’s head sent Ron swinging wildly, his tiny body flailing in the thick, coarse strands of hair.

Brad took another deep drag, still completely oblivious to the tiny man fighting for his life just inches from his lips. His fingers absently scratched at his beard, brushing through the tangled strands as he exhaled, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air.

Ron’s world shifted violently as Brad’s fingers scraped through the hair, dislodging him in the process. The tiny man screamed as he lost his grip, plummeting toward the pavement far below. He hit the ground with a hard thud, the impact leaving him battered, his limbs barely functional. Pain radiated through his broken body, but somehow, he had survived the fall.

Near death, Ron’s tiny form writhed on the rough concrete, his breath shallow as he fought to stay conscious. “Brad… please…” he gasped, his voice barely a whisper. The giant above him didn’t hear a thing. Brad flicked his cigarette casually, the ash drifting toward the ground as he scanned the horizon, still unaware of the desperate, broken figure at his feet.

With the last bit of strength he had, Ron dragged himself forward, his tiny hands reaching out as Brad’s towering form shifted above him. “I’m right here,” he croaked, trying to wave, though the effort sent fresh waves of agony through his body.

Brad, completely unaware, threw his cigarette down to the ground. It landed just beyond where Ron lay, still smoldering. Ron’s eyes widened in horror as he realized what was about to happen, but his body was too broken to move. He could only watch, helpless, as Brad lifted his boot.

Without a second thought, Brad ground the cigarette into the pavement, snuffing it out with a firm twist of his boot.

Underneath that massive sole, Ron’s tiny, crushed body gave way instantly—his fragile form disappearing beneath the pressure of Brad’s foot without so much as a second glance.

Brad turned and headed back inside, his shift unfinished, completely unaware that he had just snuffed out more than his cigarette on the way back to work.