I pretend to have the elixir of life; it is a jam sandwich. I advertise it on the internet: FREE Elixir of Life. Send SAE to The Salt Mines, Siberia, c/o Vladimir Impaleski. PO BOX 97, HANTS.
I receive no replies
to my advert. It seems that people aren’t interested in the elixir of life
after all.
*
After trawling through the Birth, Marriage and Death records I discover that my father was a
snuff box. I assume that I have inherited his lack of hinges, then I realize my
mistake and revert to my former state of ignorance.
*
This is the third day in a row that I haven’t
changed my mind.
*
I check the PO Box in Hampshire. I am greeted by a
sack of replies and an irate postmaster. On my way to the supermarket to buy
some bread and jam, I stop off at the tip and empty the sack into the landfill
container. It feels good to spread some hope among the abandoned objects of
people’s lives. Even non-fire-retardant mattresses have feelings.
*
Further research reveals that my father was a
wheelbarrow. Perhaps this explains my affinity with sand. I dismiss this
thought as fanciful; fanciful as the notion that my father might have been a
wheelbarrow. Fanciful as the notion that I will discover anything about my
father – that boat sailed a long time ago and sank off the coast of the Aisle
of White.
*
I discover that my father was a reincarnated fish.
This has
to stop.
*
I arrive home and make myself a jam sandwich,
which I throw in the bin. Who wants to live forever?
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