There’s a queue. An elderly bearded guy at the front is checking everyone’s ticket before they can pass through the legendary Pearly Gates. This could take a while, I think to myself. But hey, I’ve got all the time in the world now.
As I wait I feel a warm breeze and a kanumbra. I turn and am greeted by a man wearing motorcycle leathers. He grins and asks to see my ticket. ‘Sorry dude,’ he says, ‘you’re in the wrong queue. If you descend those stairs over there and tell the guy at the bottom, Dante sent you, you’ll be in like Flynn.’
For 100 consecutive days I will write and post a short story (about 100 words) incorporating a randomly selected word from Afterliff: A new dictionary of things there should be words for.
The sense that someone is standing behind you.
hoo hole n.
The uncomfortable pause that follows phoning somebody and completely forgetting who it is you’ve called.