#ThursThreads, week 360

Prompt: https://siobhanmuir.com/thursthreads-tying-tales-together-week-360/

They had a wicked sense of humor, did the boss, but not the wicked kind where you’d all get together at the pub and have a laugh and how badly they’d gotten you with a prank. No, they wanted to hurt with their humor, and they were good at it.

No victory could be enjoyed, no defeat succored, not when they were around. They knew every weakness, did the boss. And each joke was like a cut filled with lemon juice, the pain growing, the redness on the cheeks from a miasma of anger and embarrassment. But worst of all was their response to jokes aimed at them. Even the mildest of jocular statements brought the fiercest of responses.

See, we weren’t people to them, we were tools. And when a tool turns on its master, it gets replaced with one that won’t. And so we got replaced. There was always a line of people willing to work for them, because the darkness…well, the darkness only shone inward. Outwardly, they were the most charismatic, the funniest, the most wonderful of beings, and they were worshiped.

But that’s the way it is when you work for a god.

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