Junk Mail

1
To successfully write and make it count, make it truly mean something to strike deep and break down a readers guard and stamp on a lasting a profound impression upon someone which they will forever carry with them is without a doubt the greatest success for a writer and I do believe I have come close to have written such a thing but there is one thing missing and perhaps the most important the ending for without a solid conclusion a book can easily creep away and be lost in a discount bin forever But the conclusion can wait for now I must eat and replenish so I may write another day.I carefully fold my laptop in half sealing off my life’s work. I push away from my desk and head towards the kitchen just in time to hear the mail slip through the mail slot and see the mailman’s figure slink out of sight behind my foggy windows like an apparition.I gather the mail from the floor and place it on the kitchen counter and immediately start busting open the mail, junk…junk...junk its always junk why cant he ever bring something worth my while worth my precious time. Toast, quick and easy, get it down fast and back to my masterpiece I owe it to the world to finish such a thing it would be selfish of me to linger on such things as food and mail, junk mail for that matter. I rush down the food sprinkling crumbs here and there across my house coat and chasing the aftermath with a glass of milk while doing this I head back to my office and unclick my laptop and start typing all through the night with ideas flowing like never before I dare not blink for it might disturb such steady flow of creativity, when the unthinkable happened the mail sliding through the mail slot a sound which resembled razor blades cutting across my train of thought.

2
The disturbances are becoming more frequent if it’s not the dreaded mailman it’s a bird tapping at my window or the children playing across the street all of these distractions could drive me crazy. First things first covering up that mail slot should be easy enough. I grab a roll of duct tape out from under my kitchen sink and start pulling and tarring strand after strand putting them sticky side up until my entire kitchen table was cover I chuckled to myself thinking they looked like dead slugs and the only thing better then these dead slugs would be a dead mailman sadistic but still funny none the less. I begin to grab each piece of tape one by one and stick them over the mouth of the mail slot on the inside of the door after about twenty pieces or so the mail slot was completely cover showing no visible light. I then proceeded to tackle the other noises that were invading my space. Noisy children were next on the list, easy enough to fix I slammed closed all the windows of my house as well as the drapes seeing them was even enough to pull my hair out and finally last on the list that damn bird. I proceeded down to my basement pushed start on the dryer then headed to the toolbox and retrieved my trustee hammer and nails. I climbed back up the stairs and exited the front door glancing at the mail slot chuckling once again I wish I could see the look on his face when he discovers what I have left for him. I begin to circle my house with the hammer in one hand and the nails in the other spiking every windows ledge giving them a nice set of bottom teeth all the more reason for the birds to steer clear.

3
Dead silence runs through the house except for the hum of the laptop and the sound of my fingers clicking away at the keyboard. The day is far-gone and through the night I will work to make up for time lost during the day but I will make time to see how my plan for the mailman unfolds. The Night is much like the last, ideas and sentences flowing so perfectly as if they are not even my ideas at all but as if the story has taken a true life of its own and I am its merely writing what I am told. I glance down low on the screen 8:00am excitement grew in me "The mailman will be here shortly" I say to myself out loud. I rush out of my office and lay flat as can be on the floor just meters from the door hoping if the mailman looks through my foggy windows he will presume I am simply a floor mat, and now the waiting game. I lay and wait for a long period of time when finally I see the mailman’s shadow creeping past the those foggy windows and disappear behind the door itself. I can hardly contain my laughter knowing if he hears me my cover will surely be blown. Then suddenly I see the duct tape pushing inward harder and harder and I still lay twisted on the floor laughing inside like a kid who pulled the funniest practical joke in the world and got away with it. Then the tape ceases to push inward and nothing but silence I wipe the tears of laughter and joy from my eyes just in time to replace them with pure horror, anger and absolute rage under the door the mail slides in looking back at me almost saying "nice try bucko better luck next time". Except he doesn’t know his luck just ran out.

4
I descend back down to the basement and pop open the old toolbox. My hand sifts through the tools digging to the bottom and retrieved the bloodstained crowbar still Sticky from last times expedition. The only way to write well is by having a clear mind and that is what I intend to perform a writers block exercise. I plan to take a vacation from writing today and instead work on the encounter with the mailman. I close up the toolbox and head back up stairs to the front door with the sticky crowbar in my right hand. Now for a little practice makes perfect. I grab and turn the door handle with my left hand and swing the door open at the same time swinging the crowbar from overtop and down like a giant meat cleaver over and over I perform this act until confident. I set the crowbar down on the kitchen counter and head down the hall into my bedroom. I grab a handful of cloths out of my hamper and give them a big whiff "damn these need some cleaning" I say to myself in a semi humorous way. I go back to the front door and begin to lay down the dirty cloths all around the entrance making sure there is no visible carpet to be seen. I grab the trusty old crowbar off of the counter top and sit crossed leg a few feet from the door way and again play the waiting game hopefully with more luck this time. Day turns to night and night quickly turns to morning right before my eyes
And the long wait has finally come to an end the perpetrator has arrived on time as usual.

5
I stand very quickly letting the blood rush to my head I stumble back and grab hold of the counter saving me from cracking my own head. I not only get my balance back but a sudden rush of adrenalin surging through my veins and pumping my heart yes I remember this feeling how could I have ever forgotten. I see the mail slip underneath the doorway letting me know its time to go to work. I grab the door handle with my left hand and twist while bringing the right hand above my head. I swing open the door and the back of the mailman’s head is striking distance away and of course I take every opportunity that swings my way. I bring down the crowbar across the top of his head opening a large wound which put him face first on the cement twitching and flopping like a fish out of water it would be cruel of me to not put him out of his misery. I grab the mailman by his collar and the belt of his pants and quickly haul him through the doorway and drop him on top of the dirty cloths while slamming the door behind me. With the mailman still squirming on the dirty cloths I open the door to the basement and leave it open. I step back towards the mailman and again grab him again only this time by his wrist and start dragging him until his fingers hang over the lip of the doorway. I step over him and grab him by his ankles and lift flipping him heels over head somersaulting down the stairs and landing with a large smack against the pavement of the basement. Then I make my decent back to the basement with the ever so sticky and slippery crowbar in my right hand slamming the door behind me.

6
I step down the stairs very slowly savoring every precious moment. I approach the mailman laying near lifeless on the floor and inspecting him judging the best way of handling the situation. I roll him over getting a better look at his face little mustache that was much to small for how round his face was beady little eyes which were now closed and more chins then a man would want and now that I look at him much closer I despise him much more then I had before. Gripping the crowbar much more tightly now I again raise it above my head and begin to strike his kneecaps one at a time yet for the first time the mailman was as quite as a mouse. After I was done with his kneecaps they easily folded all the way in any direction. I then began to go to work on the mid of his spine which was relatively easier then the knee camp just a few strikes turned his back into pudding. His arms and elbows were no worry for me I need not do more work then I had to but I did do a number on his face for I hated his face and he did not even deserve one. I beat him with the crowbar for a good hour after the previous work just to soften him up a bit for easy cleaning and disposal. After I was done with the dirty work I dragged him over to where the washer and dryer were in the corner of the basement. I opened the top of the washer "no problem" I said to myself. I grabbed him under the armpits and with one big pull he was half on and half off the top of the washing machine. Head first and hopefully the rest of him will follow as soon as I got him in up to his waist all I had to do was fold him in half and he disappeared quite neatly into the machine. Next to the washer was the laundry soap I grabbed a nice big cup full and dumped it on in I then shut the lid and let it spin. Immediately after I bent over and popped open the dryer and a mail hat fell out I picked it up and felt it was still a little wet I through it back in the machine "woops I better let this guy dry out a little longer before I put him with the others" I chuckled to myself and shut the dryer.

7
I again climbed back up the stairs and headed to my office all these distractions has really hindered the completion of my work lately. I click open the laptop and start piecing together the last few sentences of my novel some of my greatest work ever I might say the perfect ending and as I was just putting it all down…KNOCK!..KNOCK!..KNOCK! "You have got to be joking me," I say out loud in a humorous almost disbelieving way.

I march over to the front door and crack it open just enough so my head sticks out and so whomever it may be wont see my dirty laundry. "Yes may I help you?" I say as polite as I can through my teeth and standing in front of me was the largest most obese women I have ever seen I am surprised she even walked up my driveway.

"Hi sir would you be interested in prescribing to the Surrey Times newspaper?"

"Yes but could you come in and help me quickly unload my laundry?"