Rated
Dec 03 2011
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1 review
• filesmelt.com
AND NOW...TINY TALES FOR THE EXTREMELY TIME-CHALLENGED:
Another 60-second story from FILK
...got a minute?
THE FIRE
Mr. K. Pemrose was at odds with his outbox.
The solution, it seemed to Ken, was to conquer the beast by working late. So, long after normal office hours, he sat there. Working. And working. Until the satisfied smile of approaching victory swept across his 9 o'clock shadow.
And until the fire.
It seemed to have started on one of the lower floors; Mr. Pemrose had been beginning to nod off when he was nudged back to reality by a shrill orchestra of out-of-sync alarms, a sort of macabre march that kept getting closer, and closer still.
Along with that insidious smoke!
Feeling the door was hot, Ken hit the floor coughing, with his handkerchief covering his mouth.
Then he passed out.
Rudely coming to from his short-lived respite, Ken could make out two shadowy figures coming towards him from the sulphurous hell. "Hey! Thank God you found me! Get me out of here, please! Hey! I'm over here! Why are you just standing there?"
"There really is no need to hurry, Mr. Pemrose. You succumbed to the smoke over an hour ago.
Come with us, please..."
Another 60-second story from FILK
...got a minute?
ESCAPE CLAUSE
"I rather think the look says, 'Velma Feeney'...don't you?"
The hapless haberdasher eyed the aging woman, in her latest attempt to recapture a youth long on the endangered species list, with disdain.
"If I may make a suggestion, Ms. Feeney..."
"Ha!" Velma spat back. "Mr. Trent, your conservative inhibitions bore me to tears. No wonder that you are a perpetual pupil in the old school. You simply failed to graduate!"
Lester Trent winced at the unsavory sight of a too-short hemline, a too-deep neckline, then remembered his own too-little credit line. And the fact that Velma was married to his boss, Herbert Feeney.
"Yes; yes, of course. It takes 10 years off your age." (Speaking of which, was 50; but she could easily have passed for 60.)
"That's my good little clothes-horse. Now, wrap up my old outfit. I should like to leave these dreary premises wearing the new."
Dutiful as always, Lester began to do just that when, suddenly, a rather curious note fell out of the pocket of the blouse he had been wrapping. It was quite steamy and accompanied by a racy photo of Velma with the author.
Who, most decidely, was not Lester's boss.
"Hurry up with that bag, you idiot!" Velma screamed. "I need to get back to the hotel!"
Pocketing his precious new ticket out of mediocrity and abuse, Mr. Trent almost sang, "Here it is, my dear woman. Have a glorious day!"
A POINT TO PONDER
Walter G. Adelman made the international news today.
Of course, he wasn't aware of that.
After shooting the President but merely grazing his skin, Walter was awarded by a hailstorm of unfriendly fire by six dark-suited marksman members of the Secret Service.
His last act on Earth consisted of promptly assuming the position he was most likely to be found in throughout most of his prodigal, wasted life.
Horizontal.
Still. Inert. Dead for at least 40 years already, for all practical purposes.
This is not a story. It really happened. Today.
Have you checked the news in the last 60 minutes? Go.
Go, look! Now!
And then look in the mirror.
Are you famous yet?
SWEET SORROW
Silence.
Pervasive, all-encompassing, brain-exploding silence.
Then, muffled tones of conversation; near, yet a million miles away.
As Sheila struggled to adjust her eyes to the darkness, she felt as if in a state of paralysis.
(Move, think, listen!)
"...and we are sadly gathered here today to pay respects to our dear friend Sheila Freemont, a sweet lady taken from us all too quickly by accidentally ingesting a fatal dose of her heart medication..."
Think, girl, think!
(NO, I WON'T GIVE YOU A DIVORCE, STEVE! YOU'LL MARRY THAT LITTLE TRAMP OVER MY DEAD BODY!)------(THAT CAN BE ARRANGED, MY SWEET...)
"...ashes to ashes, dust to dust..."
Why, oh WHY can't I speak? Move? SCREAM!!
Also, Sheila pondered, as she heard the first clumps of dirt fall on her coffin:
"Why did I have to marry Steve, a chemist and the town mortician??..."
