It must have been a joke, Herbert decided. How could a letter opener cause a twenty-five percent fatality rate?
As Herbert closed his car door, there was a crash, followed by screaming. The parking lot erupted in green flame and Herbert’s car went tumbling through the air.
He passed out.
“Excuse me, sir.”
Herbert stopped. “Yes?”
“You forgot to take the complimentary safety manual for your new steel letter opener!”
“Don’t need it,” grumbled Herbert.
“The statistics beg to differ!” countered the cashier.
“Statistics?”
“Nearly twenty-five percent of letter opener injuries are fatal.”
Herbert rolled his eyes. “I’ll be careful.”
Herbert Cralston thought queues at office-supply stores were an insufferable, stress-fueled convening of frantic, Blackberry-wielding, over-caffeinated Deputy Thises and Assistant Thats with crooked ties and runs in their pantyhose, frequently all seeking to purchase the same object.
It made Herbert feel stabby; he bought a letter opener made of steel.
“Here it is, sir,” Herbert said, plunking a stapler down in front of a mahogany placard which was embossed with the name “Sir Dr. Willifred the Ninth VanDerGilder the Third, PhD, MA, MSc, BA, with an A-minus average since Grade 4.”
“I asked for a letter opener,” said the Boss.
“Cralston! Bring me a letter opener!”
Herbert Cralston blearily lifted his head, fished around inside his desk with one hand while haphazardly tucking his shirt in with the other, slipped on his leather shoes, then stood and wobbled into his boss’s office.
Too late, he realized he’d forgotten his socks.
Today I’m starting a new series of stories, titled “The Letter Opener.” The series will follow Herbert Cralston, an office clerk who sets off on an innocuous errand only to have… things happen to him. No spoilers here! (Not a whole lot of preplanning, either.)
Unlike other Storylines on this site, the chapters will go up on sequential days. Part 1 of the story will be five or six 50-word “chapters” long and then I’ll take a break for some one-offs before continuing with Part 2, and so on.
I’d love to hear some comments as the story develops, and if you have any suggestions or opinions about the direction the story should be taking I’m definitely open to reader input!
Enjoy!
He appeared out of the shadows. “Money,” he demanded, his knife cutting down the need for explanatory conversation.
Panicking, I explained I had no job, no life, and definitely no money. He apologised for bothering me and left.
I punched the air happily. The air took it like a man.
This week’s guest story comes from Jamie Middleton. He declined to attach a tagline or description of himself, which leads me to believe that he is either celebrity, a secret agent, or both. Rock on, Jamie!
“Huh. It was dead.”
“Told you. What do we do with it now?”
“Bring it to a scientist? That’s what you’re supposed to do with aliens, right?”
“Do you know any scientists? Any that survived, I mean.”
“Good point. Let’s just burn it, I guess.”
The invaders saw the smoke.
“I’ve become more powerful than you will ever be able to imagine!”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Can you imagine telepathy?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Telekinesis?”
“Yes.”
“What about telepyrokinesis?”
Ever since being struck by lightning at the anime convention, Todd had been getting on a lot of people’s nerves.
“Let’s go camping!”
“In the back yard?”
“In the forest!”
“Will there be cell reception?”
“I hope not!”
“What if I break my back and you need to call an ambulance?”
“Then I’ll euthanize you.”
“Will you use cyanide?”
“Whatever you prefer, hon.”
“Ok, deal.”
Unfortunately, he forgot the cyanide.