Gwen, Tell Me, Would You Rather...

20260401

Prompt from DailyPrompt.com

Gwen was soundly unimpressed to receive an email saying that management had created a new “mentorship” scheme, so all senior employees had been “paired” with a newcomer and should expect text messages from their “mentee”.
Bloody cheek! Alright, the company owned her work phone, and could give the number to whoever they liked, but she felt this sort of scheme really ought to be opt-in. Or at least give a few days’ notice! Ask people’s opinions, maybe? Ugh. Fine.
So when she got a message from an unknown number mid-afternoon, she wasn’t surprised. But she was confused by it; [Hello Gwen. Would you rather find a fiver on a public bathroom floor or a pound coin in a hallway?]
Oh dear. Clearly whatever recruit she’d been paired with was utterly seeped in gimmicky corporate mindset. She’d never known anyone to do an icebreaker exercise via text message!
Not wanting to get off on the wrong foot, she replied [Hello! I suppose I’d rather find the coin in the hallway - easier to clean AND less wondering what’s on it, lol.] then [So, what’s your name? Which department are you in?]
No response. Tsk. Why interrupt someone’s work flow for a single message? Surely they couldn’t have been thrown by such basic questions? Fine. She had stuff to do.
When she logged in next morning, she found a new message. [Gwen, would you rather have one wish that’s guaranteed to come true or a hundred wishes which might?]
While once was forgivable, twice was annoying. She set the phone aside, finished her first cup of coffee, then with calmness and clarity replied [Depends what you mean by ‘might’. I mean, if it’s a one in a hundred chance I’m better off just taking the one guaranteed wish. Now, what’s your name? And are there any WORK questions I can help you with?]
No response, again. Her messages weren’t even being marked read. She resolved to find who’d come up with this half-baked mentoring scheme and compose a polite and reasoned email complaining about the juvenile behaviour she was having to deal with.
As she sat down at her desk, ready to work, her phone buzzed again. Another message from that pesky number. [Gwen, would you rather eat roadkill for lunch or sewage for dinner?]
That’s it. Boundaries time. She took screenshots of the entire exchange, then replied [That is a disgusting question. You are being very unprofessional. I will be reporting this to your boss.]
Time to dig up some email addresses. She’d planned to do this over her lunch break, but right now, it only felt fair for this nonsense to happen on company time. Perhaps that would teach them to think about who they were giving phone numbers out to!
Her phone buzzed again. [Tell me, which would you rather?]
She ignored it, still searching through the database for the names which had signed the mentoring email.
Another buzz. [TELL ME. Or have both.]
That… sounded like a threat. Gwen took another screenshot. Uneasily hoping this unhinged recruit hadn’t been given her physical address alongside her work number.
By the time she’d found the correct people to complain to, and had drafted a suitably measured message about what had happened, it was lunchtime. She decided it was best to take her break and give the email a final once-over with fresh eyes before sending it off to upper management. She really didn’t want to look like a trouble-maker.
Besides, she’d brought lunch from home, so could easily take a half-break, send the email, and get on with her actual work. People might not even notice she’d technically been missing all morning.
The sensible insulated stainless steel lunchbox contained a chicken salad, a tub of dressing to pour over it, a homemade fruit muffin, and a package of goldfish crackers (a personal indulgence, she’d loved them since she was a child).
Gwen knew this. With utter certainty. She had, after all, packed it with her own hands not five hours ago, and it had been in her backpack, either on her back or under her desk, ever since. There was no way for it to contain anything else. Nobody could possibly have gotten it out of her bag, much less opened it, replaced the contents, and returned the lunchbox without her noticing.
And yet when she opened it, what wafted out of the previously sealed box wasn’t a mellow scent of chicken and baked goods, but a revolting stench which made her gag and jerk backwards, eyes watering and one hand flying to her mouth.
Inside her lunchbox was a mangled crumpled pile of blood and fur and viscera. A single bloodshot eye stared back at her from a crushed head she couldn’t identify, but from the size thought might be a rabbit.
She slammed the box shut. Reeling.
Had she lost her mind?
No, no, the stench lingered. An unmistakable tang of death.
Of… roadkill.
Her phone buzzed. [Gwen, would you rather be lost in the mountains, or chased in the woods?]
She didn’t answer. Didn’t even open the message app to screenshot it. Instead she grabbed the phone, and the lunchbox, and ran towards security. Not at all sure they’d be able to help, but who else could she go to with this?
It, it had to be a sick joke. A horrible prank. They’d sort it out. They had to.
Painfully aware of how ludicrous the lunchbox thing was, she started with what sounded sane - the messages. The unprofessionalism.
Before she’d got half of it out, the security chief said “That can’t be right. That’s Brian’s number.”
Gwen sucked in air. Braced to have the “Look, pal, I don’t care how nice this man has acted in front of you…” conversation.
Then she froze as he continued “His flatmate reported him missing last week. And, ah, said he’d been getting weird texts to his work phone, and was going to the police…”
Her phone buzzed.

Prompt was “Would you rather…?”