It was 3 AM.
“I said, get up.”
Tired from working all day selling tiles and carpet remnants, Mel kept sleeping.
“All right, let me put it this way… GET UP!”
He was now upright in bed. He looked around the dark room. Mel often slept in his platypus pajamas without a nightlight.
“YOU'RE COMING WITH ME.”
There was no one there.
There was no one there.
“IT'S OVER, MEL.”
And here he’d hoped to sleep until at least 5:30 AM.
“Wait a minute, whoever you are…”
Mel realized it was a disembodied voice. There was no one there.
Was he hallucinating?
“YOU'RE NOT HALLUCINATING. SO, STOP THINKING THAT.”
It was a voice from out of the whirlwind. Just to establish its authority, it shook every wall in the room. Mel's award for selling the most indoor carpet for the month of June 2 years before in his Uncle Leo's showroom fell to the floor.
“YOUR TIME’S UP.”
“What?”
“UP MEANS IT'S OVER. YOU'RE COMING WITH ME.”
Mel realized it was a disembodied voice. There was no one there.
Was he hallucinating?
“YOU'RE NOT HALLUCINATING. SO, STOP THINKING THAT.”
It was a voice from out of the whirlwind. Just to establish its authority, it shook every wall in the room. Mel's award for selling the most indoor carpet for the month of June 2 years before in his Uncle Leo's showroom fell to the floor.
“YOUR TIME’S UP.”
“What?”
“UP MEANS IT'S OVER. YOU'RE COMING WITH ME.”
He didn't like the taste of the chicken fingers and green beans he'd eaten for dinner. Was this a case of…
“IT'S NOT A CASE OF FOOD POISONING MAKING YOU FEEL THIS WAY. I SAID IT'S OVER. I'M THE ANGEL OF DEATH.”
Mel knew enough about imitation Oriental carpets and vinyl floor tiles to suspect an imitation voice. He didn't work at his Uncle's showroom without learning something.
“ALL RIGHT.”
The voice wasn't pleased.
“IF YOU'RE GOING TO BE THAT WAY, I'LL BECOME WHAT YOU'RE FANTASIZING RIGHT NOW.”
Immediately, there was a…platypus. A 6-foot platypus materialized by the bed.
What could be more harmless than that, he'd thought. It wasn't a T Rex, after all. Perhaps it had been something he ate? If not the chicken fingers, then the unrefrigerated rice pudding had led to a very bad dream.
“A T REX? WHY DO YOU THINK TYRANNOSAURS ARE SO BAD?... AND STOP DWELLING ON FOOD.”
Mel stopped thinking entirely.
Who would imagine a platypus that size could be as terrifying as a T Rex?
“YOUR LIFE'S OVER. YOU'RE GOING TO THE NEXT PLACE WITH ME.”
Day after day selling floor covering with his cousins Sam and Leo Junior… And it had come to this. Walking out the door behind a platypus into his next life.
And all this time he’d dreamed of a better, future, heavenly existence. Something way beyond tiles and carpet remnants. Who wouldn't?
“YOU'RE GOING TO THE OTHER PLACE, MEL.”
“What?”
Fire? Brimstone? Hot coals?
“YOU SOUND LIKE WE'RE GOING TO AN OUTDOOR PATIO. WE'RE TALKING THE OTHER PLACE, MEL.”
He stared at the Death Angel who motioned with a flipper for him to follow. It would soon be 6 o'clock. Time to open the showroom doors. Time to suffer eternally selling floor covering. Endless haggling customers trying to save a few bucks. His Uncle, who coincidentally passed at the same time from a coronary condition, going to the same place, eternally comparing him to Sam and Leo Junior. 5-foot 6-inch Uncle Leo, chomping on a cigar, lost in smoke. And Mel, missing out on the ‘Salesperson of the Month Award’ with its small plaque again and again. Mel, derisively reminded eternally of not working hard enough, of not moving enough carpet remnants…
--
David Sydney is a physician. He has had pieces in Little Old Lady Comedy, 101 Words, Microfiction Monday, 50 Give or Take, Friday Flash Fiction, Grey Sparrow Journal, Bright Flash Literary Review, Disturb the Universe, Pocket Fiction, R U Joking, Entropy Squared, and Rue Scribe.
“IT'S NOT A CASE OF FOOD POISONING MAKING YOU FEEL THIS WAY. I SAID IT'S OVER. I'M THE ANGEL OF DEATH.”
Mel knew enough about imitation Oriental carpets and vinyl floor tiles to suspect an imitation voice. He didn't work at his Uncle's showroom without learning something.
“ALL RIGHT.”
The voice wasn't pleased.
“IF YOU'RE GOING TO BE THAT WAY, I'LL BECOME WHAT YOU'RE FANTASIZING RIGHT NOW.”
Immediately, there was a…platypus. A 6-foot platypus materialized by the bed.
What could be more harmless than that, he'd thought. It wasn't a T Rex, after all. Perhaps it had been something he ate? If not the chicken fingers, then the unrefrigerated rice pudding had led to a very bad dream.
“A T REX? WHY DO YOU THINK TYRANNOSAURS ARE SO BAD?... AND STOP DWELLING ON FOOD.”
Mel stopped thinking entirely.
Who would imagine a platypus that size could be as terrifying as a T Rex?
“YOUR LIFE'S OVER. YOU'RE GOING TO THE NEXT PLACE WITH ME.”
Day after day selling floor covering with his cousins Sam and Leo Junior… And it had come to this. Walking out the door behind a platypus into his next life.
And all this time he’d dreamed of a better, future, heavenly existence. Something way beyond tiles and carpet remnants. Who wouldn't?
“YOU'RE GOING TO THE OTHER PLACE, MEL.”
“What?”
Fire? Brimstone? Hot coals?
“YOU SOUND LIKE WE'RE GOING TO AN OUTDOOR PATIO. WE'RE TALKING THE OTHER PLACE, MEL.”
He stared at the Death Angel who motioned with a flipper for him to follow. It would soon be 6 o'clock. Time to open the showroom doors. Time to suffer eternally selling floor covering. Endless haggling customers trying to save a few bucks. His Uncle, who coincidentally passed at the same time from a coronary condition, going to the same place, eternally comparing him to Sam and Leo Junior. 5-foot 6-inch Uncle Leo, chomping on a cigar, lost in smoke. And Mel, missing out on the ‘Salesperson of the Month Award’ with its small plaque again and again. Mel, derisively reminded eternally of not working hard enough, of not moving enough carpet remnants…
--
David Sydney is a physician. He has had pieces in Little Old Lady Comedy, 101 Words, Microfiction Monday, 50 Give or Take, Friday Flash Fiction, Grey Sparrow Journal, Bright Flash Literary Review, Disturb the Universe, Pocket Fiction, R U Joking, Entropy Squared, and Rue Scribe.