The Package

Klingon Hamlet

The package was waiting sticking out of my front door letterbox like a wrinkly white tongue. I grabbed it as I stepped inside. It was a small box. It rattled when I shook it. It was quite heavy. I frowned, placed it onthe kitchen table, and grabbed a cuppa. A few sips later I stood staring down at it. It had my name typed in some fancy handwriting. Closer inspection: written. Curiosity overtook my thirst and exhaustion from a hard day's work in the office. I ripped it open and stared at the gun inside.


There was a note tied to it like you'd tie a name-tag to a Christmas present. Same twirly writing, just a few words:

It's loaded.
The Hunt begins 8pm.
See you then.


I dropped the package and the gun slid out and across the tiled floor, bouncing and twirling slowly until it came to a rest at the fridge. The nozzle pointed at me, a tiny black eye. I yelped. I gulped. For a second I was nearly blind with panic and shock. Then I giggled. A practical joke: Johnny, had to be. The bastard was a right little joker. I'd get him back. I kept laughing, until something horrible dawned on me.


The sender had used my old birth cert name. A name I hadn't used since school. A name johnny couldn't have known; few did. Only someone who had traced me, tracked me down, could know it.


I stared at the gun waiting for me on the floor.


It's loaded.


The clock said 7.45pm.


The Hunt begins 8pm.


Oh sh!t.


See you then.

pickarooney

I like it!

There seems to be a bit of a logistics problem with the delivery though - the package changes from a slim, floppy format (this is what I understand by the comparison with a tongue) to a small, heavy box. I can't imagine a gun would fit in a letterbox like this.

The first line could lose the 'waiting' and 'front door' as well I think.