500 Word Noir Project…crosses genres…

[this started as noir, but ended up…not really noir…a slackerhero tale? The suggester reserves the right to call for a re-do, since I didn’t exactly hold up my end of the bargain in regards to genre.]

Suggestions: Lollipop factory, security guard & criminal, deodorant

Word Count: 500 exactly! 


I push a button. Vat 4 tilts.

Ninja boy curses. Sprints towards the emergency exit. 

Hot candy erupts over Vat 4’s stainless lip. Purple waves overtake the infiltrator. His phone flies out of his hand into the hot mix. Photos of proprietary, patent-pending, Loli-p technology submerge.

Two tons of raw lolly? Sticks like tar. Hardens fast on the floor. 

Ninja flails, slips, falls, crawls.

Motherfucker caught like a dino in LaBrae.  

He tears off his mask. I can lip-read his screams.

I’m. Burnt. To. Shit. Help. Me. You. Cocksucker.

“No, sir,” I answer politely, over the loudspeaker, “Cops gotta see this.”

I unwrap a CreamDreamDelight with Toffee Center, settle in, and wait for law enforcement.



He’s snapping pics. Taunting me. Dancing. Making obscene gestures.

The police are taking too long. No surprise.

Ninja Boy is taking photos of all the secret stainless steel candymakers. 

I can’t let this dingus slip out with the photos of the Five Flavor machine. Or the Two Flavors One Lick. I can’t let this stealer of confectionary secrets get away.

Well, I could. 

But, nah.

I exit the security booth, and saunter over to the vat control room next door. I’ve read the manuals. 



He’s inside and moving fast. 

I stare out of my plate glass window and tap the loudspeaker mic. I wait for him.

My booth is directly over the factory floor. The automatic processes stay on all night, mixing the next day’s batch of lollipops. Sometimes I can get into the sound. I call it Industrial Dronecore music. 

Ninja boy is on the factory floor. He takes out a cell phone.

“Yo!” I yell though the loudspeaker, “You are guilty of criminal trespass and the cops are coming!”

He jumps. He looks up. Spots me. Flips me off.



I spot Ninja boy as soon as he comes into frame on Camera 4. Zoom in. Tall, athletic shadow. Black zentai-suited ninja-lookin’ male. 5’8”. He runs, leaps, and scales the fencing. Doesn’t even snag his tights on the razor wire.

I call the cops and report a trespasser. I tell dispatch it looks like this character has something more serious in mind. They say they’ll be right over.

I don’t have a gun. I don’t have a taser. I failed PE twice in high school.

I watch Ninja boy brandish a mini toolkit outside the Camera 35 factory floor entrance.



The day is harsh. Overstimulating. 

 The night is sweet. I was born the wrong animal. I’m nocturnal.

 Once, it was just me and a ‘possum on Camera 712. The moon was full. The clouds were wild. Beautiful. Brighter than the nighttime city lights. 

The possum sat in Loading Dock A. Pointy nose up. Watching. He looked dead at the camera once, like, “Are you seeing this?”

It’s boring as fuck sometimes. That’s good. I like observing. I like quiet. I like lollipops. Don’t have to wear deodorant. I know what to do, if I need to do it.

I just hope I never will.


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