This was my contribution to a 500 word improv challenge in the Amazon Forums:

Kenneth Jameson was in a hurry. In his hurry last night he forgot to set his alarm, so there wasn’t time to do much more than shower and get downtown for that meeting on the Roritan Generator financing. Those idiots at the firm can’t ever get these things straight, he thought as he rushed through his morning routine. Can’t eat now, but I can grab an energy bar at the newsstand in front of the office.

Kenneth threw on his jacket, grabbed his very expensive Moroccan leather briefcase, luckily he had stuffed all the papers in before finally turning out the lights early this morning when he finally put the finishing comments on that poorly written brief. I’m going to have to talk with Jones’ boss about his lack of attention, he muttered to no one in particular.

Closing and locking the door to his penthouse apartment on Central Park West, Jameson walked briskly to the elevator. The shining bronze doors of the elevator opened onto the white marbled lobby of his apartment house. Alfred, the door man, held open the massive brass doors for Jameson as he hurried through.

“Have a nice day,” said Alfred; a comment left unanswered as the partner in Crumbly & Seversin bolted through the door to the waiting black Lincoln Town Car.

As the Lincoln Towncar weaved its way downtown, Jameson went through his papers one more time, marking further comments in bright red ink, so much so that the document soon looked as though it had been riddled with buckshot and was uncontrollably bleeding its life away.

The Lincoln quietly slipped up to the curb of the skyscraper that served as the world headquarters of Crumbly & Seversin, a global investment firm. Jameson had clawed his way up the organization and was now a senior managing director.

He walked briskly toward the front doors of the building, but hesitated remembering that he needed his energy bar. He walked over to the newsstand on the curb and asked for a Power2go bar. “Are you new?” he asked the operator of the stand, “Where’s the regular guy?”

The operator said, “Thomas had to go visit his sick grandmother, so I am sitting in for him.” The newsstand operator handed Jameson the energy bar wrapped in its shiny silver foil.

“Thomas? Was that his name?” replied Jameson absentmindedly. He took the energy bar and walked toward the building. Without thinking, Jameson unwrapped the small chocolate covered energy bar and put it to his mouth.

As he bit into the high calorie, artificially sweeten energy bar, it exploded. Jameson’s head was explosively transformed into a Roman fountain of blood and gray brain matter; his lifeless body slumped to the pristine sidewalk of Crumbly & Seversin.

The newsstand operator quietly slipped into the crowd walking slowly westward on Wall Street as people ran eastward to the scene of the violence. Sirens screamed as police cars and ambulances fought the morning rush hour, trying to fight through the congestion.