Remember, Patreon is the place to catch every postcard story I write, starting at $3/mo. One per week!
Development of the Cissell Compact dryer has hit a snag. Our chemically infused laundry does pacify its wearer, but stupefies washers to uselessness. Test housewives became euphoric, clinging to towels like their babies to blankies. The comedown drove them mad. “Oppression!” they shouted, vowing never to wash another man’s sock. They destroyed the prototype with frightening strength and fury. They tore off their brassieres and fled into the night, babies forgotten, arms linked, ululating with joy or rage.
Testing will resume once the Cissell Compact 2 is built.
Sincerely,
Cecil Cissell, CEO
Travelers spoke in hushed tones of the Last Train, which led to such a place as one would never leave: valley, mountains, sky. What station did it depart from? What did it cost? No one knew. It was only a legend.
But then one weary night I saw an engine and single car gleaming at the platform, departure imminent. The destination said merely “NORTH.” I had but a moment to choose. I jumped aboard as the doors snicked shut.
So here I am. As I disembarked, the train aged rapidly until it looked abandoned for decades. It is desolate here: windswept valley, rocky mountains, ominous sky. I fear I can never leave.
Regretfully yours,
Jess