Each month, I buy a book of twenty stamps. I create twenty post cards. I write twenty short stories about them. I send them to twenty strangers. This is the twenty stamps project.

Request a postcard by sending your snail mail address to sean.arthur.cox@gmail.com or find me on facebook at https://www.facebook.com/SeanArthurCox
Showing posts with label parallel worlds. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parallel worlds. Show all posts

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

Thwarted Alien



It is a belief widely held by conspiracy theorists and ufologists that there exist just out of phase with our own world an infinite number of other realities neatly stacked atop our own. Those who scoff at tales of the long dead returning argue that ghosts are simply beings from these other worlds visible as through a window when conditions are just so and portions of the two parallel realities briefly graze each other. In the rare cases in which they overlap, we sometimes get reports of people vanishing without a trace or the appearance of people without a verifiable past.

On December 15, 1974, mankind quite unintentionally averted disaster when our world and another very different from our own intersected for seven and a half seconds. In that short time, a creature fueled by hatred and destruction crossed over into our own world. Thankfully, at that precise spot in space and time, we were building a parking garage and the beast found itself caught half phased within a concrete support pillar being poured. Because the parking garage was built by skeptics, they thought nothing of the haunting little round face in the middle of the completed pillar and dismissed it as a strange fluke in the cement.

- Originally mailed to J. Knight from Pascagoula, Mississippi

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

Cat Happy Place


Buttons did not care to be held one little bit. As a kitten, his mother told him his best course of action when the humans picked him up was to go to his happy place. Buttons tried, but he quickly learned that though his instincts were to struggle, to bite and claw and scratch and squirm, the humans would not put him down. How was he ever to get to his happy place?

“Silly buttons,” his mother would say. “Your happy place isn't a real place, but a state of mind.”

At three he learned that his mother was wrong. His happy place wasn't a state of mind at all, but a real place in a parallel world. A brown place. Brown like the dirt he loved to play in, brown like the rug the humans wouldn't let him pee on, brown like his favorite kibble.

From then on, when the humans picked him up, he would stare into the distance and let the Brown Place wash over him and take him away, and would only return when he felt quite certain they had given up searching for him and had opened a nice comfy book for him to sit on.

- Originally mailed to A. Navoy in Jackson, Mississippi