Marsha Loftis

Character Development: The VEP Administrator

marshal — Sat, 21 Jan 2012 05:00:17 +0000

Vocational Education Program Administrator was his designated title. His dark blue jacket hung on the coat rack next to the door. The white shirtsleeves rolled half way up his forearms. He sat behind his desk with his face in his hands attempting to calm the migraine. The job was stressful and the main reason for his divorce. The stack of VEP applications on his desk were at an unmanageable level. His staff of four overwhelmed. There weren’t enough hours in the day or days in the week to complete all of the required inspections and paperwork. His most experienced and reliable inspector was on maternity leave. She would not return for at least 4 months and there was no replacement. The remaining inspectors slow, sloppy and teetered on the line of incompetence. His boss was breathing down his neck to increase productivity. Government funding for the program was dependent on the number of VEP applicants certified in a given year. His goal was 20 percent over last year. He looked at the stack of applications, he could fabricate the reports and save time, no one would know.

Character Development: The Truck Driver

marshal — Thu, 19 Jan 2012 05:00:04 +0000

The truck was government- issue, purchased from an army surplus sale. The driver worked as a subcontractor for the Office of Financial Affairs delivering cargo to different Vocational Education Programs around the country. He wore an old tattered shirt and a leather jacket that had seen better days. He smelled of armpit, cigar smoke and fast food.

The driver laughed as he pulled himself into the cab of the truck. His cargo this trip consisted of two dozen frightened children on a one-way trip to hell. There was only three ways out of the VEP program: escape, die or parental buy-out.

Character Development: The Retriever

marshal — Tue, 17 Jan 2012 05:00:09 +0000

He was in his mid-thirties but he looked older. 10 years spent as a retriever of runners had caused not one but two ulcers to develop in his stomach. He wore a black suit as required by the agency. A 9mm .40 cal semi-automatic pistol and a badge rested on his belt. The badge gave him the authority to capture runners. Dead or alive it didn’t matter. He had a quota and he was running behind this month.

The rain pounding on his windshield was making it difficult to see. He pulled into the Diner parking lot. The signal from the girl was weak but she was somewhere in the area. He slapped the side the tracking device a couple of times before giving it a big shake. The damn thing never worked right.