“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.
“I can play guitar and trombone!”
“Ah, shaddup. I’ve learned and forgotten how to play more instruments than you know exist!”
“Like what?”
“Like Icelandic, Zulu, Narau…”
“Those aren’t instruments; they’re languages.”
“Languages? I’ve learned and forgotten how to speak more languages than you know exist! Like sitar, zither, didgeridoo…”
“So can any of you tell me the answer to five times seven?” asked Miss Flannerty. “Don’t be shy!”
Billy and Bobby and Suzie played silently with their pencils.
“Kelly, do you know the answer?”
“No,” whispered Kelly.
“That’s ok!” said Miss Flannerty. “It’s the same as my age! Twenty-three!”
“There’s something inherently comedic about hot dogs,” she mused.
“Maybe it’s their geometry,” he suggested.
“How do you mean?”
“Well,” he said, shrugging, “to put it bluntly, they’re phallic.”
“Hmm,” she said. “No, I don’t think it’s that. I think it’s because they aren’t really made from dogs at all.”