Remember, patreon is the place to catch every postcard story I write from now on, starting at $3/mo. One per week! If you enjoy these, subscribe.
Postcards: Unseen Dangers, Dangerously Unseen
Tag: postcards
Postcards From Unlikely Writers
If you’re enjoying these, hop over to patreon to get every postcard story I write from now on, for as low as $3/mo. One per week! Some postcards will still find their way here, but not all.
Behind me, observe the ruins. Thanks to our help, humans built this colosseum shortly after we domesticated them. But it fell to ruin. Did ancient lions curse them while dying in pointless contests here? Purrhaps.
Humans built many more structures after losing this one. For centuries, they kept our bellies full enough, so despite their many failures we let them believe they ruled this planet. The last straw was a bird flu—humans let it kill many cats before our scientists took over. A simple tweak to the virus, spread by a grateful Avian Nation, eliminated humans once and for all. This ruin is a monument to their hubris—and to the fabled “belly scritches” our ancestors regretted losing.
Enjoy your visit,
Docent Tabitha
You know what never gets old, even after eons? Ruining things. Some water drops enjoy freezing, making the big weird primates fall and crash their metal symbionts. Others are obsessed with erosion. Many like to flash mob, flooding things. To me, the greatest joy of all is to be cold rain. To streak at the speed of gravity, striking the tiny gap between clothes and bare neck, the little hole between umbrellas, the pair of upturned eyes. It makes every other part of the cycle worth it. Even boring ocean duty. Even percolating into coffee. Even flushing a toilet. Look out, I’m coming. And I’m bringing friends.
~Water Droplet #H20-99N0FU704SEA
Postcards: Beware!
Remember, patreon is the place to catch every postcard story I write from now on, starting at $3/mo. One per week! If you enjoy these, I hope you’ll hop over to patreon and subscribe.
In England, they say that all the swans belong to the King—but they never asked the swans. Humans rarely think of other species. In Denmark (where the “mute” swan is the National Bird), they celebrate a fantasy version of my people, in which one of us is unwise, helpless, mute. But we are none of these things. And the swans are on our side. They’re in all your parks already, protected and underestimated. The war between sea and land is coming, and though you are burdened with legs I love you still. Beware the swans, save this one who flies with my message. Meet me at the beach.
Love,
Ariel
If “Abra Cadabra Travel” offers you a “tiny vacation you won’t believe,” say no. At first, the castle was magical—snow sparkling like fairy dust against a backdrop of mountains, trees, perfectly blue sky. Then, a furious earthquake struck, followed by a blizzard. We tried to leave, but after a day’s hike, we hit an impenetrable barrier that curved up and around in every direction. We saw only our reflection in it, no hint of the world outside. We’re trapped in some kind of globe with no escape. The earthquakes and blizzards continue. Save yourself!
Dinah
Postcards: Misunderstandings
If you’re enjoying these, hop over to patreon to get every postcard story I write from now on, for as low as $3/mo. One per week! Some postcards will still find their way here, but not all.
My dearest Marilyn,
Meeting you was the highlight of my life. That a humble musician could play his way into the heart of such a beautiful traveler as your! When I played for you it was as if the gods above channeled their divine harmonies through my unworthy fingers.
It breaks my heart that you had to leave so soon. But I was cheered by your promise to come back for me once you prepare your home for our life together. I cannot wait. Yet I shall wait, until the sky crumbles if need be, for love such as yours.
Until you return, I will play my vihuela.
Yours eternally,
Daniel
Postcards: Careful Who You Let In
If you’re enjoying these, hop over to patreon to get every postcard story I write from now on, for as low as $3/mo. One per week! Some postcards will still find their way here, but not all.
Dear Tara,
The puppies are growing up fast! Especially Bjørn; he’s MUCH bigger than his siblings and causes more mischief. I’m pleased at least one is thriving; I still don’t know what killed their poor mama.
Today I let them out to romp in the fresh snow, and boy did Bjørn get into something messy! I’d be mad if his self-satisfied smile wasn’t so stinking cute. I was so busy cleaning him up I barely noticed that the other puppies weren’t underfoot. They never came home! Tomorrow I’ll look for them, but for now at least I have my Bjørn to cuddle with. He’s a little bitey, but we’re working on it.
Love,
Ellie
Dear Sophia,
We were fighting in the car, as usual, when he pulled over for this hitchhiker that looked like a time traveler from an old-timey pinup magazine. Leans right over me, asks where she’s going. Ogles her legs. “Get in the back,” he tells me. He had that look on his face, that wild look, so I did.
Not two miles later he reached over and grabbed her thigh. Instantly he screamed and writhed in agony. The woman parked our car and then she … opened … like a hole in the universe. She ate him whole. And then she was a woman again, winking at me as she left.
It’s been a few days now. The shock is fading and I still don’t miss him. Thanks, hitchhiking monster lady!
~Rita
Postcard Bonus: Spooky Visitors
The ones who emerged looked enough like those who’d gone down that when they walked up out of the mine, grieving women fell into their arms. “Incredible that you’ve survived so long since the collapse!” they said, and didn’t ask how. It was only later that the oddness became apparent. How they stood a shade too upright. Spoke too precisely. Never seemed to blink. Their children were grown by then. The ones whose weird eyes didn’t blink quite enough. They’re in control now. Mayor, city council, all of it. It’s fair enough, we suppose. They’ve never said so, but it’s clear they’ve been in this land far longer than we have.
Best,
Lisbet
The transmission will reach you in several thousand “years,” as it must travel at the speed of light. Assuming my people aim correctly, this beam will traverse a straight line across the universe until it lands in the middle of your receiving ring, forming the connection that will allow us to visit your delicious planet. This message contains the instructions for constructing the ring. Make sure to build it to spec, because we very much look forward to m/eating you.
Your devouringted friends,
The “Aliens”
Want to read more of these? Visit my patreon!
Postcards: Learning through Travel
Exciting postcard news: I have a patreon for these now! That is where you can see every postcard story that I write from now on, starting at $3/mo. One per week! Some postcards will still find their way here, but not all. If you enjoy these, I hope you’ll hop over to patreon and subscribe.
For one moment, I knew the meaning of life. I learned it in a crypt. I went as a tourist: go see the ancient bones, weird art made by monks in god’s name. But then the lights went out. Sort of. I could still see. But the other tourists were gone, along with everything modern. It was the kind of quiet that’s loud, the only sound the creak of a skeleton turning his skull to me. He told me the secret that only bones can know. I carry it inside me now, deep inside, but I’ll only know it again once my flesh rots away. Isn’t that oddly comforting?
Yours eternally,
Cole
Evolution is fascinating! Prize stags’ racks get smaller. Elephants are born without tusks. Same with unicorns.
Today, at the Queen’s Bestiary, we met the oldest living unicorn. 700 years old and horn at least 4 feet long! The younger ones, captured in the last few centuries, just have dainty twee little horns. Today we learned—fun fact—unicorns simply refuse to breed in captivity. Yet they live forever. Poor things.
One wonders what would happen if they mated in the wild. Over generations, would their horns grow long again? Or are those genes lost for good?
Wouldn’t it be interesting if a visitor left a pen unlatched, and some horny unicorns escaped into the nearby horse pastures? For science?
—A Scientist
Postcard: New job is a blast!
Dear Nikki,
I really like my new job at the volcano. My coworkers seemed cold at first, but they warmed up after that busload of kids went into the cauldron. It was like something from a cartoon: a sign pointed straight off the rim instead of to the parking lot. Every year, it seems, there’s a bonkers accident and people fall in. Awful, right? Still, I can’t shake the feeling that locals are relieved it happened. Like they were edgy before and now they’re more relaxed. Anyway, hope you can visit next year. Bring the kids! We’re planning an amazing, up-close tour.
Love,
Tobey
Want your very own postcard story? You can buy one here.
Wondering WTF this is? Start here.
Postcards: Transformations II
The giant seabirds of the Arctic are truly phenomenal. Early in our study, we woke to a thump that shook the whole boat. When we got on deck, instead of an eagle or an albatross, or even a walrus, we found a stunned, nearly naked man. He wouldn’t tell us how he came to be on our boat; he just demanded fish (we gave him a can of tuna) and hit on Bella for a while. Then he said “ciao” and leaped off the stern. We all gasped, thinking of the icy water below. But feathers sprouted from the man’s arms and torso and he soared, disappearing into the white of the sky.
That’s just one of the magnificent new species we’ve catalogued.
Wish you were here!
Dr. Pauline Frost, Ornithologist
We followed a new Sphinx legend to a northern land—found it, but it’s quite mad. It grinned with this manic set of un-catlike teeth. It asked Pete to solve a riddle, but we weren’t clear on the stakes—this Sphinx wasn’t guarding anything, and we weren’t questing. The riddle was nonsense, stuff about slithy toves and manxome foes, so of course Pete got it “wrong.” Can there even be a right answer to utter rubbish? The Sphinx bared her human again, and took her prize—Pete’s right hand. She rubbed it greedily against her left paw, muttering “14 more suckers to go.” On the plus side, Pete has a cat’s paw now and it’s pretty darn cute.
See you soon!
Alice
Want your very own postcard story? You can buy one here.
Wondering WTF this is? Start here.
Postcards: Of Air & Ice
As surfers, we recognized the ice for what it was right away: a frozen wave. Deep within, two shapes resolved. One looked like a fur-clad man, tumbling. The other was a fearsome shape, giant and toothy, the largest shark we’d ever seen. I rubbed my eyes to clear the hallucination. The ice played tricks, we’d been told.
But Chad, transfixed, put his bare hand to the ice wall… and stuck. I laughed, at first: “Why not lick it, like a flagpole?” But before the heat of his hand could melt him free, the ice reeled him in. His hand disappeared into the wave, then his arm, and then his screaming face. The ice took him.
Inside that wave, the two figures of my hallucination remained. Only now the massive shark was nearer its prey. And the prey wore Chad’s red hiking jacket.
Love,
Your favorite surfer (at least now!)
The rapture came, I think. It wasn’t what we thought. We all ascended—I was shocked! As we rose, we… changed, and not into angels. No halos, no wings, except this one chick who turned into a penguin. Another guy pudged out into this, like, turquoise teddy bear? Several resembled sea creatures. Me? My head became a dang jester hat. Yeah, worst of all of them. When the wind shifted, we fell back to earth. Now I’m all deflated and stuck out here. Is this hell? IDK. Anyway, if you’re still ambulatory please come help.
Love,
Joe
Want your very own postcard story? You can buy one here.
Wondering WTF this is? Start here.