A Grimm Mistake
So many souls, I think, so little time. I’ve worked myself to the bone for nearly seven centuries, give or take a few decades. And in all that time, I’ve never had a break. So naturally, I thought I’d give myself the holiday season to relax and live a little. Well, as much as the Grim Reaper can live.
The Final Job
42 was good at his job. In fact, he was the best. Working for The Agency certainly beat any typical nine-to-five, not that many of them existed in the year 2381. The Agency was an organised society tasked with ensuring the best outcome for humanity, sending agents back in time to trim any errors and tie off loose ends. Whether this meant eliminating tyrannical dictators, tipping the scales of the stock market, or inspiring world-altering innovations, The Agency ensured that humanity would out-survive our sun. But in his recent years, 42 had begun to feel a longing for something more; for something that The Agency did not account for.
Mother Nature Knows Best
A wall of ticking timepieces follows the frost growing across the shopfront glass. Alex bursts through the door, heaving two overflowing shopping bags in his arms. Shoving his shoulder against the main panel, he manages to shut the door and silence the bell ringing wildly to announce his entrance.
Charlie’s bedroom is cold. His eyes slump to the bottom right corner of his laptop screen. It’s 2:47 A.M. His last auto-pilot breath leaves him as he becomes conscious of his lungs expanding and contracting in his body. Standing from his desk, his knees and elbows crack.
Bram and the Baker
Tired from his long flight in the rain, Bram comes to rest on a window box. Raindrops sit along his back, slowly falling as walked carefully through to the window. Peering inside through a patch of zinnia, he spots a young woman mixing ingredients in a large red bowl. Hesitantly, he moves closer, shaking the droplets from his feathers.
Wish I Had A River
The scent of vanilla and cinnamon dance through the air. Jodi rests a plate of freshly made snickerdoodle cookies on the table, turning to the pile of metal rods covered in plastic pine leaves, some more than others. The tree box is still holding together despite the tattered ends, crumpled ears, and slight water damage from nine Christmases in the house. Jodi queues a festive playlist on her speaker and props up the centre spine: a metal pole reaching five feet above the ground. Bells jingle and the merriment begins. Filled with Christmas spirit, she begins transforming the skeleton into a beacon of holiday cheer.