THE TEXT

The Life of Henry Fuckit
(1950 - 2015)

 

84   Unsolicited mail

On returning from his sojourn in the hostile interior he unlocked and opened his front door to find a small heap of mail waiting for him on the wooden boards. There was advertising junk, water and electricity accounts, a final demand from his dentist, something from the Nursing Council. And an envelope with a red, white and blue border. 'My heart has skipped a beat, and there's a hollowness in the pit of my stomach.' He murmured the clichés like an imprecation, with resigned bitterness and a sense of dread. BY AIRMAIL. PAR AVION. USA stamps. Finally he looked at her handwriting and turned the envelope over. Why must she come back into his life? For three years he had tried to keep her from his thoughts and had begun to hope he could win the battle. If he didn't think about her he was spared the worst pangs of a passion he assumed he shared, to some extent, with all of his fellow mortals: the yearning for unity, the need for love. The passion was strong in him and he had partaken of an opiate. Maybe the opiate was exceptionally pure and effective, or he was abnormally susceptible to addiction. Whichever the case, he had decided it was in his best interests to give up this drug entirely and put up with a dull ache. Maybe one day it would leave him altogether.

He would burn the letter, unopened. Where were the matches? Fuck it man, why was he being tormented like this? He had two days before the ship sailed and an impossible amount to accomplish in that short time. If he read this letter he'd be rendered a useless, quivering wreck for God knows how long. No, no ways. Tonight he'd light the geyser with it. Damn, damn, damn!

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