[Brutal Short Story] - A struggling door-to-door salesman takes thi...

The writing prompt was:

"A struggling door-to-door salesman takes things one step too far."

Provided by: reddit user Flying_Narwhal423

"Hello, I'm with the Xyrox company, may I interest you in-"

They slammed the door shut right in front of my face.

Same story every single time.

They never even wait until I tell them what I am offering them. For all they knew they could be missing out on the best deal of century.

I sighed and moved to the next house.

"Hello, good day sir! I'm with the-"

The man shut the doors with such force they almost unhinged.

"Ah yes, always a pleasure. It's not like I need to sell 10 of these a day just to break even. Nu-uh, not at all."

I muttered to myself in front of the closed doors before leaving further down the street.

I felt like a broken record, always saying the same words, always getting the same response.

I shook depressing thoughts out of my head and put a smile on my face before ringing the doorbell.

"Hello! I-"

I snapped when the door slammed shut. I couldn't contain myself any longer.

I rang the doorbell again seething with anger.

When the door opened the second time I placed my foot between the door.

"Listen, I've had a very long day. A man shows up at your doorstep wearing a suit and your first reaction is to slam the doors shut? For all you know I could be from the bank!"

I pushed the door open at that point and the woman inside backed off in terror.

"Is that how you treat a fellow human being, miss polished fingernails?"

I stepped inside and followed her into the kitchen.

"You think you're so much better than me. You get yourself a fancy office job and suddenly the world must bow at your feet. You treat everybody like they were a trash bag, but god forbid someone serves you a cookie with your coffee and it's not not gluten free."

She got herself cornered, crouched down and started crying. I pulled a chair from the table and took a seat.

"Let me ask you something. Do you love your job?"

She shook her head.

"Would you rather work a different job?"

She nodded in silence, still trembling with fear.

"Now, do you think I love my job?"

She shook her head again.

"That's right. I don't. I don't work this job because I enjoy repeating the same words over and over again. I don't work this job because I enjoy going door-to-door being treated like a stray animal by people such as your glamorous self, thinking you're worth something more. No. I work this job to make a living; like you. Because just like you I have bills to pay and mouths to feed."

I picked up an apple from the fruit basket on the kitchen table and took a bite.

"I'll buy whatever you're selling, just please leave."

"Oh, so now all of a sudden you care? Do you even know what I'm selling?" I paused for a moment before continuing with my trained speech; "Revolutionary skin care products that make you look 10 years younger, make your skin feel softer than silk, blah, blah, blah. You know, the kind of thing people like you spend hundreds of dollars for."

"I'm sorry, alright? I'm sorry."

"Sorry? You treat a man like garbage and now you're sorry?"

"Please, just take whatever you want and leave."

Hearing those words tipped me over the edge.

I threw the apple straight into her head with as much force as I could.

"So I'm a thief now? An honest man comes to your doorstep, trying to make a living and you crown him a thief? Oh hell no, missy. I'm not a thief!"

I picked up the chair I was sitting on and started pounding her with it. When she started screaming I kicked her right in the head, knocking her unconscious. When the chair broke I punched with my fists instead.

Soon there was blood everywhere and I just didn't stop. I kept on hitting her until there was nothing left of her head but a red sludge.

Exhausted, I realised what I had done.

All these years of selling door-to-door and being treated with absolutely zero respect had finally taken its toll.
I got up, washed my hands and tried to think of what to do next.

I took out my phone and called the police.

"Hello. John Goodwell here. I would like to report a murder on 55 Greenwood street."

I hung up before they could say anything.

I took one final look at what I had done before reaching into the cutlery drawer.

A tear rolled down my cheek, but I knew it had to be done.

I closed my eyes and slit my throat.

The end

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[Brutal Short Story] - A struggling door-to-door salesman takes things one step too far

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