Filed Under (Microfiction) by Tansy on 04-05-2013
A point of light appeared on the horizon and soon a taxi was pulling up before him. “I’m Peter; nice to meetcha. Let’s get this show on the road!” the driver said with a wink. “Uh … Pearly Gates Peter?” he replied, a little hesitant. The man laughed. “If you like. Look, we don’t really have a formal check-in process; we figure formally checking out covers it.” Peter laughed again. “Your mom wants to see you, of course, there’s a reception gala tonight, and that French foreign exchange student you were crazy about is waiting at a restaurant to meet you for lunch. You coming?” “Just like that? No final judgments?” he stammered, climbing into the cab. “Well, you did have consistently shitty taste in ties,” Peter answered as they sped off.
(For John Munger, my dear friend, who has departed for an undiscovered country.)
Filed Under (Microfiction) by Tansy on 01-05-2013
Ken had never been sick in his life and thought nothing of it, then he had his first full body scan at the airport. TSA agent Jim Wiehl was working that day. “Jesus,” he whispered to himself as he rang the buzzer for his supervisor, “Wolverine’s got nothing on this guy.”
Filed Under (Microfiction) by Tansy on 22-04-2013
“Brother Godric has truly the worst temperament I’ve ever seen in a monk,” Brother Llewellyn observed. “Godric is a saint, ” Brother Reinar replied. Unable to stop himself, Llewelyn made a face of shock. Reinar smiled. “Every day, Godric gives his peace away to others: the sick, the dying, the oppressed – and, every day, he has less for himself to deal with his pain, rage, and fear. Life, at this point, has become a gnawing agony.” At that moment, Godric yelled in a fit of irritation and threw his chamber pot out of the window into the rose bushes below. Reinar chuckled. “All the same, it’s easy to wish that we could admire his goodness from farther away.”
Filed Under (Microfiction) by Tansy on 04-04-2013
The Magic 8 Ball had started showing her things about a week after she bought it – terrible, true things. Sarah called in sick the day it said, “Work Shooter” (and was glad she did). She made the call and ended it first when the Ball said, “Breakup” (he was amazed at the synchronicity). She began to take it with her wherever she went. On vacation in California, it told her to “Prepare” and Sarah got a sinking feeling. She begged for more and, eventually, it returned “San Andreas Fault” and “I’m Sorry” in quick succession. Sarah cried, then ordered expensive champagne with her room service breakfast and waited.
Filed Under (Microfiction) by Tansy on 26-03-2013
When the translation apparatus had been perfected and strapped to the two lead dolphins, the conversation started urgently. “Thank Leviathan! There is no time!” Dora buzzed. “We can save some of you, but only some; 4 or 5 per pod,” Tagen nodded excitedly while staring intently into the eyes of his trainer. “As the breathing world comes to an end, you will need gills and shields for your freshwater eyes; we will share the instructions for the surgery and raw materials with you.” “You must hurry. Please hurry,” Dora crested up out of the water and pointed out to sea. The trainers sat silently, stunned.
Filed Under (Microfiction) by Tansy on 23-03-2013
“I picked up your favorite, Wanita – caramel pecan!” Mrs Eston said in a cheery voice, placing a large piece of pie before the girl. She was thin as a rail, poor thing; a stark contrast to their Sadie’s rosy plumpness. Wanita squealed until her jaw unhinged and then scooped up both the plate and dessert, tipping it back into her throat and swallowing it whole. Afterwards, wishing she could just die, Wanita began to slide off of her chair preparing to flee. Mr Eston cleared his throat, “Uh … uh … it’s fine, Wanita. Just relax.” He raised his glass of wine. “Here’s to … uh … evolution!” he said, more than a little amazed.
Filed Under (Microfiction) by Tansy on 22-03-2013
“It is with a growing fear of my own mental fragility that I continue writing.” (Howard Phillips Lovecraft, 1935) “I know that it would make my career; no one remembers the scientist who mapped the trench, only the adventurer who went down into it. But I can’t. It’s ridiculous, but I’m afraid.” (Harriet Phyllis Lovecraft, 1960) “God Particle, sure – but which god does it belong to? I think someone needs to ask that question, don’t you?” (Harlen Phytel Lovecraft, 2012) “The blemish is not a sunspot. It cannot be; it moves and changes. It is neither fixed nor star-shaped. Those are tentacles. Let them laugh; I would bet my life on it.” (Hara Philippa Lovecraft, 2178)
Filed Under (Microfiction) by Tansy on 21-03-2013
What Tom thought was a pearl in the oyster opened to reveal itself as an eye, which sat staring at him (unblinking) on his plate. He closed the shell without pointing the eye out to anyone and slipped the oyster into the pocket of his jacket. Later, on the patio of the restaurant having his post-dinner smoke, he calmly took the shell firmly in his right hand and lobbed it over the guard rail back into the ocean. “Life is both terrifying and marvelous,” Tom thought, shuddering.
Filed Under (Microfiction) by Tansy on 23-02-2013
The wishing well sat at the top of the hill and waited. Yesterday, a neighbor dropped in a search flyer after they’d successfully found the little girl; it arranged for him to find what was missing in his life. A carjacker had thrown a keychain down, so it made sure a police car would be waiting for him when he got home. A woman had flung in a dollar and her hand mirror, so it allowed her to move beyond vanity into a life of service. Today was a new day. And it waited.
Filed Under (Microfiction) by Tansy on 15-02-2013
Jinpa would take the upper guard off of the blade, then tilt the scoop up. Off she would drive, into the mountains, turning around carefully at the first pass. Out of the blizzard they would come, moving towards the truck tentatively at first and then with great excitement. Jinpa would rev the engine and off they’d go – the snowplow kicking up a huge wave and the yetis jumping onto the flow to surf it. She’d drive all night, until they naturally dispersed, and then head home herself. A happy monster was an untroubled village.