Ficlets

“Are you sure I’m supposed to be here?”

They come looking for permission or confirmation. Receiving either according to their own desires, the new arrivals would nod silently to themselves, then shuffle on through the awaiting gates. Nobody was turned away, not having come this far.

And so, the man in the white sport coat looked up from the Ledger, nodded quickly then went back about his business. But this arrival was not going quietly.

“So I just go on in? No goons from security to pull me out of line, give me the twice-over with an electric—?”

“Security,” the Accountant interrupted calmly, “is not so much of a concern here.” The grin that followed was meant to be comforting. “There is not a soul here to harass you, challenge you, discourage you.”

The new arrival cursed soundlessly.

“There’s none of that either, I’m afraid. Do enjoy your stay.”

The Accountant returned his limitless attention to the Ledger. His hand moved so deftly, a ritual of writing interrupted only by the turning of pages.