It was yet another boring day on the job, and Ann Freeman decided to be late. Who cared if she was fired, and who cared if she was given the toiling duties in the kitchen, making lunches, coffee, arranging the trays of cookies, and setting out the daily food that all the workers ate in only a short time of about five minutes or so? Ah, well. Who cared?, she thought, I ask you, who cared? Why not let me be whimsical and free, and forget such worries. This job is the grime and slime of Hollywood.

So it was, on this day, that she decided to be a fashionable 36 1/9^th minutes late. Did they care? Did they blow their sorry, little, flimsy tops at her? Did they go berserk with cursing? Did they give her the job in the kitchen? And did they not care that she was fashionably late?

Of course they did. It is only second nature for them to be “stressed out”, “tired”, and “in need of their coffees, colas, V8’s, and Red Bulls”. Celebrities, Drama Queens, and the likes. Pampered little bums too soft for their own good. Ann hoped they all woke up FAT one morning, then suddenly choke to death on their FAT throats while their blood pressure rises, and she hopes the police find them blown up on their fancy sheets and expensive floors, with their remains splattered all over the walls and their ridiculously expensive, shiny furniture and their “one-in-a-million” trophies.

Humbug! If Ann were famous, she’d try to change the world, not change to try the world.

So it was, on this day, when one of these needy people decided to whine a coffee out of Ann Freeman. She grumbled her way to the coffee maker, and found it cold. Yesterday’s obviously. Oh well, she thought, maybe this will satisfy you. She pulled out the flattened, fat glass pitcher, and poured the cold coffee into a mug. She punched the button on the microwave and the door swung open. Ann grabbed it, and thrust the coffee in, slamming the door behind it. She pressed a few buttons, beeps following behind them…two minutes…and jabbed the start button with her thumb.

“Better grab some sodas and such.”

She pulled out the large, blue cooler, and jerked open the door to the freezer. Ann grabbed a nice load of ice, and dumped half of it in. She put it back, jerked the fridge open, and pulled out dozens of helpless sodas, V8’s, frappuccinos, and Red Bulls, burying them in the mound of ice in the cooler. The microwave beeped. Coffee’s done. She punched the button again, grabbed the steaming coffee, and slammed the door shut.

The little drama queen was waiting outside the door, and Ann thrust the mug into her hands.

The drama queen took one look at it, and gasped.

“This isn’t coffee! It’s…BLOOD!”

Ann turned around as she began to walk away.

“What?”

“BLOOD!” she screamed. “BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD!”

She fainted dead away, the cup fell from her hands, and it shattered, spilling what Ann thought was coffee, everywhere. Ann bent down, and probed her finger into it. She rubbed it between her fingers, and found out that it was blood. Ann felt sick, and a horrible thought came to mind. She rushed back into the kitchen, and fumbled terribly with the microwave door before she was able to jerk it open. She looked carefully around at the interior, and it was sparkling white. Ann gently closed the door, and backed away into the cooler. How could that have happened? It seemed impossible, but, somehow, it wasn’t. She sat down on the cooler, and shook her head, then stood up, and pulled the cooler behind her as she went to set it up next to a folding table. She’d better hurry up, and set out the food as well.

After putting up the cooler, she came back and heated up a few trays in the fridge. She popped the first one in, and began putting out the cold ones on the table as everyone began to arrive. Ann took down several large bowls, and filled them with things like popcorn, granola bars, Energy bars, chocolates, and fruits. The microwave beeped as she finished filling them up, and Ann opened the door to find the inside splattered with blood. The pasta salad she had been thawing from the freezer looked like a bowl full of various parts of the body, all cut up and doused with blood. She quickly threw it in the trash, and cleaned the inside of the microwave, tossing the bloody, cloth towels in the sink to rinse. Ann took out the bowls, and came back to heat up a nice plate of barbecued sausages in the oven. They came out fine, and she took them out in a crock-pot. Ann came back to slightly heat a plate of cold, hard cookies, and hesitated before pushing the start button. She waited to see what would happen. Nothing happened while the light was on. Nothing happened while she could see the microwave heating them, but when the light went out, when the heat died down, and when she opened the door, something hot and red seared her face as it splattered all over her, and she wiped it out of her eyes. It was all blood, and she looked back into the microwave. Ann could see bloody patties of ground meat with small eyeballs embedded in them like chocolate chips. Ann could take it no longer. She screamed terribly, and ran out, flinging blood everywhere. Everyone either gasped, screamed, or fainted at the sight of her. One person caught a hold of her while she was trying to escape, and he pushed her back into the kitchen.

“What’s wrong with you, Ann?” he yelled.

“Don’t make me go back! Don’t make me go! Please!” she screamed.

He pushed the door open, and let out a ‘HOLY SHIT!’ as he looked around. He looked into the microwave, and his lips curled back, his nose wrinkled, and he nearly fainted. He dragged Ann to the microwave, ready to blame her for it, and a piercing red light suddenly burst from the appliance.  The heat increased, spreading out, until it hit the walls.  The white walls reflected the light, and it doubled back, striking continuously, until the light became heavily concentrated.  Anne fell to her knees as the man beside her fell dead, slowly burning away.  The heat squeezed at her lungs, and her skin began to tighten as it dried.  Her bones became brittle, her hair seemed to dry up, stiffening, and falling to the floor where they burned to nothingness.  She collapsed to the floor, her neck stretched out in a gasp for breath.  Her eyes had nearly disappeared, and what was left rolled out onto the floor and dried up.  Her skin pulled tightly over her bones, and a finger snapped off.  The light gave one last burst, and drew back into the microwave with a slam of the door.  It left nothing.

BEWARE THE MICROWAVE OVEN!