TELEPHONE CALL • by James Bloomfield


“Mr Carter?”


“Mr. Michael Carter?”

“That’s right. Who is this, please?”

“This… is Death.”

“Oh. Wow. Okay.”

“It is your time. I have come for you.”

“By telephone? I thought you did this kind of thing in person.”

“I have embraced the digital age. Saves on travel expenses.”

“Smart move.”

“Thank you. Now… prepare yourself… for the afterlife.”

“Um… I still feel pretty good.”

“Wha — You don’t feel the icy hand of Death creeping out of the phone to snatch the life out of you?”

“I have hands-free.”


“I have a hands-free kit. I’m driving.”

“Touch the phone.”


“Go on. Touch it with one finger.”

“No way, man!”


“Fine, whatever. I’m not touching that damn phone.”

“You dare defy me! Snivelling mortal, I am Lord Death, destroyer of worlds. I will — Hello? Hello? Carter! That’s it, I’ll call back. I’ll call with blocked caller ID. You won’t be safe forever!”

James Bloomfield has been writing flash fiction ever since Stanley Donwood’s “Tachistoscope” introduced him to the style. He lives on the outskirts of London, England and is lucky enough to be in love with both his job as policeman and his flame-haired fiancée.

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