the tamago report

Eggs benedictated

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.

A SHORT STORY ABOUT BACON.

by MDY

In the third month, we ran out of bacon. But Dad had seen this documentary before the blackout. So he shot two Vorpids in the mountains and we sliced them up thin and covered the slices in piss and buried them by Mum’s grave for a week. But me and Cotter didn’t want to try it, so the next survivor came wandering we offered it to him. Big guy with a spade who looked at Cotter like fresh meat. Next day he was retching up blood and Dad had to feed him to the snarks. I can tell he misses bacon.