Dead Mouse Walking

“What’s that plastic bag poking out of your pocket, Ollie?”

“Nothing to worry about, Jim. Only a dead mouse.”

“I thought there was a pong.”

“Found him in the airing cupboard. Toasting himself, the fecker.”

“Ollie, why are you carrying him around?”

“I’m going to give him a decent burial.”

“You know what I’d have done?”

“What?”

“I’d have served him to Sourpuss. As a delicacy.”

“Isn’t Sourpuss rotund enough?”

“Are you going to part with that mouse, or aren’t you?”

“It’ll cost you, Jim.”

“Pint?”

“G’wan. Done. Here, take him.”

“Barman, two Guinness.”

Plop.

“What the-? My pint!”

“Cheers!”

From Guest Contributor Geraldine McCarthy

Christmas Cards

My eccentric aunt sits in front of a stack of approximately one hundred Christmas cards, freshly signed, sealed and stamped.

“May I help? Let me mail them for you,” I offer.

I grab a plastic bag. As I manoeuvre cards into the open bag, about one third fall to the floor. I kneel down to scoop them up.

She begins to wail. “Don’t you realize, I spent forty minutes sorting them into fashionable zip code order?”

Is there any point in explaining they will become part of the greater mass once dropped through the chute at the Central Post Office?From Guest Contributor Barry O'Farrell

Barry is an actor who sometimes writes, living in Brisbane, Australia. Barry's stories can be found at Cyclamens & Swords, 101 Words, The Flash Fiction Press and here at A Story In 100 Words. One of Barry's stories was runner up in the recent Arts Alliance competition.