Centaur

"Life got you down? Become a Centaur..... today!"

Admittedly, this was the funniest ad Rodger had ever come across. As he stood in front of the wooden pole down at St. Catherine's street where the flier had been pinned, he couldn't help but wonder who would be so sick as to come up with an ad like this. Placing a hand on the paper, he ran a finger over the image of the centaur, thinking if how much his friends would laugh at it. He considered teaing it down to fold it neatly in his suit pocket but he had ran out of friends.

Literally.

It was nearing the holiday season and most of then had left the city to rewind and refresh in the fine, calm and relaxing atmosphere of the country side. Mr. Pitshaw was not a man of luxury, despite the empire he ran, too much money was never just enough for him.

Rodger disliked his boss, but surprisingly the man paid well. Well enough to have his staff seated and working before 08:00am every weekday.

Rodger stood, his surrounding was noisy. The cacophony of the busy city life rose around him higher and higher, people bustled about noisily, impatient drivers honked at one another and somewhere a fight had already broken out, but Rodger stood still in front of that wooden pole, his mind lost as he studied the flier, forgetting that he should be heading to the subway. It was already 08:07am and Mr. Pitshaw took no liking to lateness.

A sudden buzz from his cell phone jolted him from his trance, he reached into his breast pocket to bring out his phone, flipped it open. Stella was calling. He looked at the time.

"Oh shit!"

Pressing the answer button, he ran towards the subway.

"Stella." He didn't see the puddle, his new shoes went into it.

"Rodger! You're late. Pitshaw is furious."

"Awwwn, c'mon. isn't he always?" He rounded the corner and almost collided into a baby stroller. The lady yelled.

"Really? Listen to him."

Rodger sighted the stairs leading to the subway and grinned, from the other end of the line he could hear a furious Mr. Pitshaw.

'that silly dog should be grateful for the opportunity I have freely given to him. Am I not generous enough? I could kick him out and he would be picking up scraps for life! How lateness is costing me money goddamnit!'

Rodger paused, anger etched on his face, he stood on the stairs watching the people walk by, the phone was still on his ear when he heard Stella say "Hurry", then she hung up. Rodger looked back, climbed up the stairs and ran back. He was going to find that flier. He grinned. He was going to send in his boss' details. The perfect prank.

Work became less stressful with Mr. Pitshaw gone on a vacation. Usually his "vacations" were business trips which only lasted a couple of days, but this one had stretched well into months.

Three months.

For Rodger it was less work, more pay and all the reason to be happy.

102, 5th Street had been his home for the past four years and never had he been robbed or burgled, so when he came home on the 13th of March to meet his door lock broken, he was both surprised and angry. He opened the door and stepped in, picked the crowbar that always laid at the side of the door and flicked the lights on. His living room was a perfect mess, the sofa was ripped and the stools were broken and upturned.

Noise came from his bedroom.

Lifting the crowbar well above his head ready for a strike, he cautiously made his way to the bedroom as silently as he could. The door was slightly opened, he slid in and turned the lights on. He blinked. He swore he saw the hind of a horse in the bathroom.

"What the...."

The lights flickered, he lowered the crowbar to his side and walked to the door.

"What did you do Rodger?"

Horses couldn't talk. Horses weren't supposed to talk. He quickly backed away. The horse made its way out of he bathroom and stood domineering over Rodger. This wasn't a horse. This was a....

"You did this...."

The creature was vexed, its eyes were bloodshot, the horns on its head was intimidating. Rodger eyes widened as he recognized the face.

Mr. Pitshaw.

In fear he dropped the crowbar.

The flier.

Centaur.

He didn't think it would be real.

"Life got you down? Become a centaur...today!!"

The lights went of in 102, 5th Street. A painful scream followed.