“I’m only 29!” I screamed. I threw my glass of wine, pulling a look from the bartender.
“I’m only the messenger,” Kevin said, clawed hands up. “The deadline is not appealable. I have to do my job.” Kevin reached for his scythe, pulled a watch from his pocket.
“Your job?! How dare you? This is my life!”
“Look, I can give you like twenty minutes more. But then we really have to go.”
Twenty minutes. What could I do with twenty minutes? I glanced at my phone, an alert from my boss flashed.
There is a boy under my bed. When I was little, I saw him once or perhaps twice, only appearing when the lights were off. I saw small fingers gripping the sheets from below, a knee, maybe. Just enough to know he was there. Instead of scaring me, his presence gave me comfort. But now, years have passed. And I still believe. So, there he is, looking at me through the mirror, still under my bed. He looks just like me.
Nikolai Mortozov checked his hourglass watch and sighed. Another soul to collect, another deadline looming. But as he approached the hospital bed, he hesitated.
The old woman smiled. "I've been expecting you, Nikolai."
"You know my name?" Death mumbled. "I'm here for your... deadline."
She chuckled, "Nonsense! I'm not finished living. I've heard tales of you since childhood." She handed him a pen. "Sign here to extend my deadline, please."
Bewildered, Nikolai scribbled his signature.
"Wonderful!" she exclaimed. "Now, dear, about that empty социального calendar of yours..."
Nikolai blushed. Perhaps this deadline could wait after all.
Enclosed you will find a pair of shears, the ampule and an address. Got to the address. Speak to the woman at the front desk and show her your hands. She will guide you to the patient’s room. You will state nothing to the patient besides your name and position.
You then have three hours to harvest the growths and deliver them to our downtown office in the receptacle provided. If this condition is not met, one of your stated relations will be terminated.
She paced the front of the hall as she taught. I hadn’t noticed til today that she’d go a specific distance then turn, never a pace beyond. The cane bore her dragging leg as she walked. She was teaching her favorite topic, word origins.
She was a stickler for rules. Deadlines were always black and white.
I usually stopped listening as she told lengthy stories to illustrate her point. This one began with her Father, who was a prison guard.
Referring to the origin of “deadline” : in the 1860’s, there was a boundary ditch dug around prisons, and if prisoners got near it, stepped over it or got in it trying to escape , they were shot dead.
The wrapped dead lined cadavers were stretched like a sweater hanging on a clothesline. Arms, however were tied together, as weapons of war torn limbs from mangled bodies knitted in a time frame of a few minutes as if Madame DeFarge in Tale of Two Cities waited for the guillotine to slice off another head as a piece of bread was spread with red jam and wrapped around in another bag before being tossed in a hole with the molde deadlined rats that cruise as another missile is wasted wanting a delicious body to take down.
Hi Miguel, talking of deadlines I have some fairly hefty ones ahead, so I'd like to say thanks but I have to step back from microdosing now.
I've really enjoyed experimenting with a format I hadn't tried before, and after a little break to catch up with other stuff, I have a new type of experiment in miind with the super-short fiction format.
Paul tired of weenies in their white lab coats in ivory towers telling him what to do. Acting like they knew better. Congress getting in his business. He didn’t need some Joe College to tell him what date his food should be used by. What was this China? Then he felt the rumbling of distant drums around his equator. Dashing down the hallway praying he made it in time, his faith in government for the people was at least partly restored.
1 minute to go until the plan is delivered. One minute to midnight. Paul saw people outside enjoying themselves in the street, lit up by the red neons of the main avenue. None of those enjoying themselves has a deadline. But Paul does, and there's a lot at stake besides his career. ‘If you don't deliver the plan on time, your whole family is in danger,’ the Mafia boss told him three weeks ago. Paul shouldn't have been careless. Bang!
Kevin was early.
“I’m only 29!” I screamed. I threw my glass of wine, pulling a look from the bartender.
“I’m only the messenger,” Kevin said, clawed hands up. “The deadline is not appealable. I have to do my job.” Kevin reached for his scythe, pulled a watch from his pocket.
“Your job?! How dare you? This is my life!”
“Look, I can give you like twenty minutes more. But then we really have to go.”
Twenty minutes. What could I do with twenty minutes? I glanced at my phone, an alert from my boss flashed.
“Whatever. Let’s go now.”
(just realized i did 100! half a grade deduction)
A bit of overdosing but we’ll take that! Thanks for expanding on Kevin’s adventures 😂
PROMPT: DEADLINE
THE DECISION
The clock was ticking, and a sort of deadline was looming.
I only had a limited amount of time to decide what I wanted to do.
And it was not an easy decision.
There were two options, and there were pros and cons to both of them.
But lots of people were waiting impatiently for me to sway one way or the other, and I had to make a choice now.
Did I want to supersize my order or not...? 😎
Look Closer
There is a boy under my bed. When I was little, I saw him once or perhaps twice, only appearing when the lights were off. I saw small fingers gripping the sheets from below, a knee, maybe. Just enough to know he was there. Instead of scaring me, his presence gave me comfort. But now, years have passed. And I still believe. So, there he is, looking at me through the mirror, still under my bed. He looks just like me.
JonasT
Thank you for joining in Jonas!
Not her Job
Molly missed the deadline
She sank into the when couch when she remembered why.
“I have a crush on you.” she said
He beamed and said “I do too”
They were both young, and very attractive so why not?
He was married and her therapist
She told him everything about her past
She had to set up boundaries. Again.
It was not her job
Now to heal from this.
How could she with salt in her wounds?
💀 80mg Deadline
The assassin had never been good with deadlines.
“Have him dead by August,” Mrs. Wilkins whispered over the phone.
“Why August?” he asked. It was unprofessional to question clients.
But he was not a professional. Just an amateur.
On September 1st Mr. Wilkins was still not dead.
Per the morning news:
“Mrs. Mary Wilkins killed by a professional assassin hired by her husband.”
The assassin shrugged, answering the phone. He was not a professional. And he had a new client.
The Reaper's Dilemma
Nikolai Mortozov checked his hourglass watch and sighed. Another soul to collect, another deadline looming. But as he approached the hospital bed, he hesitated.
The old woman smiled. "I've been expecting you, Nikolai."
"You know my name?" Death mumbled. "I'm here for your... deadline."
She chuckled, "Nonsense! I'm not finished living. I've heard tales of you since childhood." She handed him a pen. "Sign here to extend my deadline, please."
Bewildered, Nikolai scribbled his signature.
"Wonderful!" she exclaimed. "Now, dear, about that empty социального calendar of yours..."
Nikolai blushed. Perhaps this deadline could wait after all.
Deadline
Enclosed you will find a pair of shears, the ampule and an address. Got to the address. Speak to the woman at the front desk and show her your hands. She will guide you to the patient’s room. You will state nothing to the patient besides your name and position.
You then have three hours to harvest the growths and deliver them to our downtown office in the receptacle provided. If this condition is not met, one of your stated relations will be terminated.
More stories with Kevin, please! :))
80 mg deadline
She paced the front of the hall as she taught. I hadn’t noticed til today that she’d go a specific distance then turn, never a pace beyond. The cane bore her dragging leg as she walked. She was teaching her favorite topic, word origins.
She was a stickler for rules. Deadlines were always black and white.
I usually stopped listening as she told lengthy stories to illustrate her point. This one began with her Father, who was a prison guard.
Referring to the origin of “deadline” : in the 1860’s, there was a boundary ditch dug around prisons, and if prisoners got near it, stepped over it or got in it trying to escape , they were shot dead.
The deadline. Very clever!
Haha thank you!
The wrapped dead lined cadavers were stretched like a sweater hanging on a clothesline. Arms, however were tied together, as weapons of war torn limbs from mangled bodies knitted in a time frame of a few minutes as if Madame DeFarge in Tale of Two Cities waited for the guillotine to slice off another head as a piece of bread was spread with red jam and wrapped around in another bag before being tossed in a hole with the molde deadlined rats that cruise as another missile is wasted wanting a delicious body to take down.
Hi Miguel, talking of deadlines I have some fairly hefty ones ahead, so I'd like to say thanks but I have to step back from microdosing now.
I've really enjoyed experimenting with a format I hadn't tried before, and after a little break to catch up with other stuff, I have a new type of experiment in miind with the super-short fiction format.
So long and thanks for all the fish!
Good luck with whatever you're working on... 😎
Hi! No worries. Good luck with everything 😁 thank you for the awesome support and participation. Feel free to join in back anytime you feel like it 🙏
Paul tired of weenies in their white lab coats in ivory towers telling him what to do. Acting like they knew better. Congress getting in his business. He didn’t need some Joe College to tell him what date his food should be used by. What was this China? Then he felt the rumbling of distant drums around his equator. Dashing down the hallway praying he made it in time, his faith in government for the people was at least partly restored.
My 80mg of a Deadline
1 minute to go until the plan is delivered. One minute to midnight. Paul saw people outside enjoying themselves in the street, lit up by the red neons of the main avenue. None of those enjoying themselves has a deadline. But Paul does, and there's a lot at stake besides his career. ‘If you don't deliver the plan on time, your whole family is in danger,’ the Mafia boss told him three weeks ago. Paul shouldn't have been careless. Bang!
Good one! Also, Kevin? :)
I figured it’s a great name for a God of Death, ain’t it ?
It is 😂
Ooh, that’s a good one Zeta!