Tansy Undercrypt
Author, Illustrator, Purveyor of Doom & Whimsy


November 24th 2014 in Microfiction

When Matt came to, he was slumped in the snack aisle of the Baron Street Piggly Wiggly on a pile of chips he’d pulled down; he’d drooled (or worse) all over his shirt. “Hey, you’re back!” Chuck said, helping him sit up. There were tears in his eyes. “Who came through?” Matt asked weakly. “My grandmother,” Chuck said. “It was her voice and everything. She told me where to find my dad’s war letters and urged me to go low-carb for my heart. It was her, man. It was so weird.” Matt rubbed his forehead and sipped the water someone had given him. “It can be freaky,” he said slowly. “When I was in New York last month, I apparently visited a photographer as Marilyn Monroe and told him off for publishing childhood photos.” Chuck whistled. “Yeah,” Matt finished, trying to stand.

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Eleanor sat in a chair holding the pan of bars on her lap, thinking it through. Several of her friends came up, asking when the goodies would be served, but she didn’t answer right away; Eleanor didn’t like to be pressured. After almost 20 minutes, she stood up, took the cover off of the pan […]

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She fixed the small lace collar at her neck, straightened the pale pink sweater, and smoothed the plaid skirt. The dramatic eye was gone from the face in the mirror, likewise the scarlet lip; she was neutral now with just a hint of blush and gloss. She sighed, but moved out to the car […]

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