Patreon! Go there to see at least twice as many bizarre postcards, starting at $3/mo.
Dear Punky,
Tonight, we take over the world, using the very creature who tried to eat us. The probes have been inserted into his brain, and a remote test showed all his voluntary functions under my control. With teeth and claws like this, I can’t fail! I trust you prepared my cockpit in his hollowed-out eyeball, and secured the passage to it through his sinuses, so into the mouth I go! This would be perilous if you hadn’t disabled his swallowing reflex. You did disable it, right? When next we meet I’ll be monster-emperor of the world!
The BrianDear Applicant,
We at Muse-By-Mail appreciate your interest in our services. It’s not easy to admit you need supernatural help with your art, and it’s more difficult still to obtain the address and special postage required to deliver your card to our remote mailbox. Kudos.
You have requested inspiration for an epistolary project that will impress your friends and family. While this is a unique proposal, The Muses are not currently interested in inspiring it. We hope to see more of your groveling in the future. Next time, include an offering.
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.
Dear Earthlings,
We were human when we launched, but treated like animals. “Volunteered” for a likely suicide mission to find the lost lunar explorers. Imagine our surprise to be greeted like heroes here, embraced like family, welcomed home. We took our helmets off and found our faces transformed. Imagine our joy. Send as many ships as you like; we’ll welcome all who make the journey. Or send no more and leave us in peace.
Warmest regards,
Cat People of the MoonDear Admissions,
Please accept my application to the School of Fashion. I’ve enclosed a photo of myself modeling my favorite items I’ve made in sewing class here at St. Clair’s School for the Invisible. I couldn’t choose, so I wore everything! As you can see, I favor bold color and texture combinations. It’s so important for clothing to really catch the eye, for safety (and personal expression too, of course). I hope you like it. A lot of my blood, sweat & tears went into these pieces—it’s hard to use a sewing machine when you can’t see your fingers.
Thanks for your consideration!
Tanya
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.
Welcome, visitors! 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 TabithaDear Festivalgoer, 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
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, DanielAttn: High Command
First Contact isn’t going well. We were prepared for the planet’s sapients to fear us. Since we can’t vocalize their speech or contort our digits into their non-verbal languages, we printed signs: “We come in peace,” etc. But we misjudged our relative sizes—although we’re huge compared to creatures like us on their planet, we’re not big enough to be seen as monsters. They see us as food. They captured all 8 members of the initial landing party and never even saw our (to them) tiny signs. What are your orders? Attempt peaceful contact again, or skip to the contingency plan?
Hopper Team Upsilon-Nine
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!
