18
Nov
07

Wish you were here

Postcards for ‘Wish you were here’. These three form a set.

Hi Fred! Remember me? Holiday been good? Recreation, study, and reflection? Always good to reflect, on the past. On the future too! I’ve got a holiday job, learning a new skill which I plan to use pretty soon. I’m helping out in an abattoir, chopping up flesh. Hey, you’d never believe how complicated it is, getting just the right cut. I’m quite good at choosing the appropriate knife. I really like large ones, though there’s something ghoulishly satisfying about hacking away with a knife that’s too small for the job in hand. I’ll soon be accomplished though, and ready to begin the new project I promised my daughter.
I wish you were here now, as I can’t wait to see you. But don’t worry, I’ll find you, wherever you hide. I wouldn’t want you to miss out on the experience of a lifetime.
Enjoy your last weeks,
Your avenger.

Woman on holiday.

Amy, my love…
Another postcard, in an effort to keep sane. Are you watching me as I write this? You could have been here, bucket and spade, frilly swimsuit, and later sharing drinks and girlish giggles under the scorching sun. But it was not to be. You were three. Are you still three? You would have been 18 now, probably on an 18-30 holiday, rather than here with me. But that would have been fine. I could have have coped with that. But I can’t cope with this void, this emptiness which seems to envelop my whole being, relentless in it’s clasp. Your father is precoccupied, has plans, he says. I have no idea what. You’d think after the abattoir this would be paradise, but he seems not to notice. He exists somewhere else. We are strangers.
Oh how I miss you my love. I so wish you were here!

Postcard to the father, from prison officers.

Reading the scrawl on the postcard, he became angry. No one had told him of Fred’s transfer He re-read the brief message.
‘I regret to inform you that the intended recipient of your recent postcard message is no longer with us. I am therefore returning your postcard. (Oh, and the abattoir. Good choice of holiday venue!). Yours’, etc etc.
‘The cheek! Where is he then!’, the man exploded.
Muttering expletives, he found and dialled the prison telephone number and waited. He needed to know where Fred was, otherwise his plans were useless. Perfect execution was needed if the desired, optimum effect was to be achieved.
Moments later, shocked, he sat down. Why wasn’t he told? Surely he should… years and years of unrelieved pain, unanswered questions and then plotting and planning revenge, just to be told… that he had died fourteen years ago, in his sleep! The easy way out…

©DF2007

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