Tansy Undercrypt
Author, Illustrator, Purveyor of Doom & Whimsy


September 20th 2017 in Microfiction

“I cannot tell you what I know,” the letter began, “but I can share what you do not.” The old paper was soft and so delicate that some feared the act of reading would tear it. “Death is a minor inconvenience and that about sums it up. The world is all about checks and balances, so your mortal coil is a construct that requires both an extraordinary birth and its companion finishing move – a magnificent exit.” The handwriting was legible, but not familiar. “What I’m saying is: do not watch the clock. Move at the speed of your own light. Move heaven and earth (and shake the stars while you’re at it), but do not fear death.” There was no return address on the envelope. “Life is the thing to pay attention to, easy or not; death is nothing more than walking into the garage from the kitchen … except, of course, that what’s waiting will take your limited definition of Infinite Majesty and spank it.” The letters (all six of them) were unsigned and addressed to different people in town. The postal mark said “Snaptully”, a barren plain that once held a mining camp destroyed by some calamity in 1861. The letters were put into wallets, bibles, and safe deposit boxes to find their way to other generations and the generations after that.

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