Sometimes I want to write flash fiction or short stories. Check back often for the latest pieces.
… I walk from piece to piece until I reach the end. I’m pretty much done with this place, so I turn to the next room looking for the exit. That’s when I see it. I see her.
On a modest sized canvas is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She’s angelic in her cloudy landscape. Light shines on either side of her. She has that Mona Lisa smile that’s not quite a smile. And her gaze is … intense. She’s staring directly at me—or through me. I’m not sure which.
I could still hear the Irish tune ringing in my ears even as it faded the farther I got from the pub. It was a risky move to drink with the sailors—they might recognize my face later—but I had to make sure they were hammered as a blacksmith’s block.
They drank and I poured. The barmaid was happy to have help that night. I listened closely to conversations between the men. Once I heard the name of the ship that was set to sail to America the next day, I made my way outside.
My Job as Death
It was my first day on the job as Death, and I had no idea what to expect.
I stopped by the receptionist’s desk to hand in my completed paperwork, which took me three years to fill out. Not that the job of Death is so coveted that they have extra hoops or anything. That’s just how it is in Hell. There’s stacks of paperwork for any job.
“Here’s your watch, a scythe, and a pager,” Betty said. “There’s a manual in the backpack.”
“A pager?” I said. “You mean what they used in the ‘90s?”