The Letter

This was the first time I had ever had to sign for a letter addressed to Occupant.

This is how it happened.

In my dreams, I heard the doorbell, and my wife was angry I was snoring.

“Hun, you’re snoring.”

The doorbell was insistent, so I opened my eyes.

“Hun, you’re snoring!”

“Someone’s at the door,” I replied.

“Yes, I heard.”

She stared at me, and through half opened, slightly sticky eyelids, I stared back.

It’s called non-verbal communication.

So I shuffled out of bed, and half fell down the stairs to answer.

I turned the key and was about to open the door when I saw my naked body.


I shouted upstairs, “I’m in the nude!”


I heard some noise from upstairs and caught sight of a bright pink object flying down the stairs.

I opened my mouth to say something.

Instead, I closed my mouth and wrapped the towel around my waist.

I opened the door.

“Mr Occupant?” said the Postman.

“No, it’s Clarkson.”

He growled, “Sign here.”

I reached for the stylus and the towel slipped to the floor.

I opened my eyes, my wife was cradled in my arms.

“Hun, you’re snoring!”

Another week, another challenge, here is this week’s Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner.

There is only a tenuous link to the image. Perhaps it’s dreamlike reflexive quality?

19 Replies to “The Letter : FFftPP”

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