A Story for Proper 17A

A comedic short story published in Braided Way Magazine.

Click here to read the full story in Braided Way Magazine

Jeremiah opened his eyes. The first words to pop into his mind were ‘cozy eclectic,’ though how he knew these words, he had no clue. The office—and it did look like an office—felt homey with its deep green, patterned wallpaper, ample bookshelves, and large, mahogany desk against the side wall. There were shelves holding bits and bobs from across time, from arrowheads to AR headsets, though, again, how Jeremiah knew these words, he had no idea.

He looked down to find that he sat on a chaise lounge with smoothly carved wood to match the desk. It had a deep red velvet lining, which felt calming in contrast to his eternally scratchy tunic. He was about to stand up and explore when, suddenly, a voice nearby made him jump.

“Goodness me, it’s the weeping prophet himself.”

Jeremiah looked around, his eyes finally landing on a man sitting across from him. How had Jeremiah missed him? The man smiled pleasantly, making a note on the clipboard resting on his knee. When he looked back up, his face looked innocent, with round, cherub features and brass spectacles beneath tufts of sand-blonde hair. He wore a beige waistcoat, a muted plaid bow tie, and brown leather shoes. He looked as though he’d been designed as part of the room. “I don’t think you know how eager I’ve been to meet you…”

From “A Story for Proper 17A,” featured in The Braided Way Magazine