The Visitor (2)

The Letter

Some time ago now, my death letter arrived. It was as simple as that. I knew what it was the moment I saw it slide its way beneath my chamber door and rest itself against my foot. When I picked it up, I noted that it was surprisingly light for something so dark.

Before I had the chance to open it, she emerged across the face of my doorway. The grey suited siren. I found she always had a habit of turning up whenever I felt some anxiety. I had been feeling that a lot of late. The letter had distressed me somewhat and sure enough here she was again.

Her palm cushioned her slick black hair upon the great wooden post in anticipation of my recognition. She reeked of sex. It stunk out the place. She spoke to me in those familiar husky Italian tones; ‘I have something for you.’ I didn’t say a word back. You’ll learn that I never speak. I just sort of think.

When the siren disappeared, undoubtedly disappointed by my lack of ‘progress’, I found myself staring blankly at the unmarked envelope. I knew I wouldn’t like what it contained. I searched for any signature or symbol on the paper. There was nothing.

I gazed at its seal searching for remnants of saliva. I felt along its stick. Every touch dried a little more. My fingers stuttered as the precious tape became as coarse and useless as dying skin. Something I am afraid I already know too much about. I began to lick the paper. I thought that I would taste my deliverer’s breath. I burned. My lip felt more alive than ever. As if kissed by poisonous lips I imagined my smile being lost forever. I smiled at the thought.

There lay an unconscious fly gasping for air. Its legs began to twitch searchingly for a platform. It was oblivious to the sick giant looking down upon it with half closed eyes in disbelief. It might have laughed had it known that the giant was scared. Nose to wing I took in its grotesque air. I sensed its breath coming back. The fly fluttered, once, twice, then raised its front legs as if to charge and with mighty strength was air-born. In a daze, I watched it drunkenly spill its wings on both sides of its determined frame whilst remaining afloat. It rested a while on the wall to this room. Twitching, aggravated, it appeared in pain. I watched it closely. Gazing as though all was fire, the wall transformed before me as though by magic - though this was a terribly dark magic.

The wall now presented shimmering flashes of both life and decay. Flies feasted on their father, mother, brother and sister as though they were a storming army of horses flooding a battleground. I spied one suffocated by the swarm being swept into the air like ash from a fire. Only it’s rotten membrane and shredded wings remained resting reluctantly on the tip of my finger. The vibrations were tremendous and their deep resonance continuously pounded upon aching drums. Overcome by the stench of this hellish mutiny of nature I hurled. Perhaps premeditating my reaction to their presence, the smaller, no doubt younger flies clothed my sickness and drained away my illness. I fainted and awoke to the Siren.

‘You need to remain calm. It’s Ok. Wipe your mouth. Tidy yourself, because you look like death Sir. Now, you need a wash. A good shave and a good smell is all that you need. Remember your appearance. You have a visitor today.’