Tax Season Trauma

messy desk paperworkAvery looked at his watch and let out a banshee-like scream. In a panic, the nanny ran to Avery’s home office and flung open the door. “Are you okay, sir?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just that it’s tax season and, as a tax accountant, I feel like I’m buried under an avalanche of tax forms. I’ve got half a mind to take all these papers out to the backyard and dump them into the fire pit.”

The nanny smiled and jokingly said, “Please don’t, sir. Otherwise I’d have to report you to the authorities.”

“Maybe that would be a better option than having to complete all these goddam tax forms,” Avery said. “These people act like they’re nobility, but they’re nothing but a horde of brainless zombies who are too incompetent to file their own taxes.”

“But sir,” the nanny said, “helping people with their taxes is how you earn your living. If you didn’t do that, you wouldn’t be able to pay me to take care of your children.”

“That’s a good point, Charita,” Avery said. “You do take excellent care of my children.” Avery paused for a moment and then added, “And you take excellent care of me, too. Quick! Get in here!”


Written for Paula Light’s Three Things Challenge, where the three things are report, nanny, and zombies. Also for Teresa’s Story Starter, where the line is “Quick! Get in here!” And for these daily prompts: Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (watch), Ragtag Daily Prompt (avalanche), Word of the Day Challenge (Fire), and Your Daily Word Prompt (nobility).

FFfPP — Airport Zombies

img_1774Did you ever notice that people walking through airports are like zombies? The next time you’re in an airport, look around. Walking through the terminal and toward their gates, dragging their rollaboards behind them, they all have these vacant, empty expressions on their faces. They seem to be possessed. They’re like the walking dead.

Even those who are eating something in one of the various food courts or restaurants that dot the terminal buildings are just going through the motions, opening up their mouths and stuffing some crappy food into it while either staring off into space or with their eyes affixed to their smartphone screens.

And when it’s time to board, they line up like lemmings, waiting for their boarding group number to be called and then, one after the other, like automatons, hand their boarding passes to the gate attendant before entering the long, narrow, metal tube.

Except for kids. They are still too young to have reached the airport zombie stage. They are too excited, too full of energy. They are running around and screeching and giving all of the grown up zombies bigger headaches than they already have.

And I used to enjoy flying.

(199 words)


Written for this week’s Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner from Roger Shipp. Photo credit: flight-airport-airplane-plane-34631 pixel photo.