the tamago report

Eggs benedictated

Category: Prose

A SHORT STORY ABOUT WRITING AND WIZARDRY.

by MDY

When Joanne opened the door, she found the source of the doorbell’s incessant ringing to be an unkempt man almost 7 feet tall, dressed in patchwork animal furs and shoes the size of melons.
“You’re a writer, Robert!” he exclaimed when he saw her, a gap-toothed smile creasing open his ragged face. “And not just any writer, but the Boy who Sold!”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Joanne said, and when he tried to grab her away she emptied in his face both barrels of her beanbag shotgun.

A SHORT STORY ABOUT METAMORPHOSES.

by MDY

I turn into a rabbit at the worst possible times, like when I’m trying to play it cool with a girl or getting told my presentation just doesn’t cut it by a client. I can’t even hop, just sit there and tremble with my buck-teeth at a gawky angle. I told my therapist it feels like I’ve been slapped in the face by a metal bar, only from the inside out, but all he did was prescribe me Prozac for a 1.2kg body mass.

A SHORT STORY ABOUT WALKING SPEEDS.

by MDY

You can tell a person’s life by the way they walk. Plodders whose feet scuff at the dirt, trying but not hard enough to push back time. The daydreamers who dawdle at birds and flowers and plastic bags in the wind. The hurriers stumble and fumble in their scurrying FROM; the marchers adopt military pace in a clip-clop quest TO. Only a few realize you don’t need to walk. I used to jetpack until a gang wearing trout’s-head masks pulled me down and broke half the bones in my body. Now it even hurts to hobble.