Saturday, July 10, 2010

The Coming of the Doombringer

A man came to my door today.

“I bring you doom.” He announced.

It was odd, I didn’t order doom, and knew no-one who’d send it to me, but here he was, and I’d no reason to doubt him.

He did look honest. He carried a clipboard.

I told him I’d no use for any doom.

“Just doing my job, sir.” He replied.

I couldn’t argue. It wasn’t his fault I didn’t want the doom he brought, and he likely had other deliveries to make.

I pondered a moment, took the clipboard, and signed my name.

And then I died.

1 comment:

  1. Hi there,

    I stumbled upon your blog, and I really enjoyed this piece. It reminds me of an Anton Chekhov story that I read in the recent past. It ends in a similarly meaningless, somewhat ludicrous death. I envy your determination to write everyday - perhaps I would benefit from following your example!

    Frustrated Scribbler