“You have a work email!”

A booming voice from Thomas’ cellphone jolts him awake.

“W-what. What is happening?”

He grabs his phone and instinctively puts it against his head and says, “hello.”

Silence at first…but then “you have a work email” booms through the phone’s speaker again.

“Fuck.”

Now alert, Thomas moves the phone away from his head and realizes that he wasn’t on a call. His face automatically unlocks his phone, and he swipes down on the notification bar, revealing an email from his job.

It’s the weekend. I don’t get paid to be on-call.

Thomas swipes the notification away and turns his phone off, placing it back on the nightstand.

He lays back down, covers himself up, and goes back to sleep.

“You have a work email!” blares through his phone again.

“What in the fuck!”

Thomas grabs his phone, and, to his surprise, it unlocks with his face.

I thought I turned you off.

He opens his company’s email app and sees two emails. He selects the one with the subject “You’re fired!”

He reads it, and it’s some bullshit about them letting him go because he isn’t a team player or doesn’t go the extra mile. They also said that someone from HR would come by to pick up his corporate laptop later.

Whatever! I hated that job anyway.

Thoroughly pissed at the absurd stupidity of the situation, Thomas replies, “Thank you for allowing me to work seventy-hour weeks and not paying me overtime; now go fuck off and eat a dick.”

He feels proud that he stood up to the establishment and could taste all the upvotes he was sure to get when he posted his story on the Antiwork subreddit later.

Once again, Thomas goes back to sleep.

He begins to stir and tries to swat away the hot air tingling the back of his neck.

“You should’ve answered your email.”

Thomas pops up and yelps at the sight of a man standing beside his bed. He’s wearing a khaki-colored polo and slacks that have been splattered with red.

“Who the fuck are you?”

The man taps the nametag on his shirt—Dave from HR—with his knife.

“Holy shit!”

Thomas stumbles backward and falls out of his bed.

\thump**

He groans at the sudden shock to his body. He takes a moment before getting up, but he notices Dave standing in front of him, his knuckles white from gripping the knife so tight and wearing a blood-curdling smile.

“NOOOOOO!” screams Thomas as Dave brings the knife down upon him, piercing the palm of his hand.

Thomas cry-shouts, “what the fuck!” as Dave removes the blade and swiftly jams it into his head.

Blood pools from the wound, and Thomas slumps to the floor. Dave removes the knife and wipes it on his pants.

He searches Thomas’ apartment until he finds the company laptop and leaves.

A week later, the police find Thomas’s body, a decomposing penis stuffed in its mouth.