Steed looked intently at the strange package which had just been
delivered to his front door step. It was very rare indeed that
he got any mail other than bills or death threats. It was a large
box, well largish at any rate. Large is after all a relative
term. Some people might say that the planet Earth was large, and
others would argue that in fact it wasn't really very large at
all when compared to the size of the sun
when compared to the immense, never ending, cosmic universal scheme
of things, really it was really rather small, and certainly insignificant.
Trevor, as he stood there examining the package on his front door
step, didn't consider the Earth as either small or insignificant.
He studied the box a little closer. Trevor supposed it was about
three feet square. It was wrapped in very ordinary brown paper,
and on the front it simply had his name, Trevor W. Steed, printed
with remarkable neatness in blue ink. No address, no stamp, no
postmark nor any other discernable writing
Just his name.
picked it up and concluded that it was quite heavy, well, heavyish.
Heavy is, after all, also a relative term. He supposed that it
weighed about fifty pounds or so, and he had trouble picking it
he did somehow, and with strength not befitting a man of only
five feet, he managed to transfer the package from the door step
to his kitchen table.
a curious thing it is indeed," Trevor said out loud. But
why he said it out loud I am not sureas he was quite alone.
proceeded to take the sharpest knife he owned from a kitchen drawer.
The knife was about four inches long, and Trevor looked at his
distorted reflection in the shiny stainless steel blade with satisfaction.
This was very much a real knife, and not one of those he purchased
from George's magic shop. Clasping the knife in his chunky fingers,
he slid the knife under the packing tape securing the brown paper
and slit it open.
was then he saw it: a handwritten card. He raised a bushy eyebrow,
picked it up and read it out loud.
your appointment last week was so memorable, we thought we would
send you a thank you gift."
thought back to his unmitigated success in the Platinum-Notion
office. He then looked at the unwrapped package on his table.
It was a white cardboard box...
my charm and talent finally won them over," he said out loud,
again with no-one to hear, except, as I might have done well to
mention earlier, a few mice munching away merrily on a moldy currant
bun that had failed to make it into the trash can, under his kitchen
sink. But they were not very fluent in English, to be perfectly
honest, so they really they don't count, now do they? In fact,
they are so irrelevant to the story I am trying to explain that
I am not even quite sure as to why I am mentioning them. You might
be considering that the mice make a future appearance in this
gripping account. But alas they do not.
was when he was opening the cardboard box that the first sign
that it wasn't going to be Trevor's finest day happened, as that
is when he got a rather nasty paper cut, on the thumb of his right
hand. The cut was a good half an inch long, and had managed to
penetrate through the skin, and a steady trickle of Trevor's blood
began to make its bid for freedom.
Trevor repeated several times in an almost chant-like fashion
as he scurried to the sink and turned on the cold water tap. He
mumbled distinctly like gibberish as he rinsed off his wound.
Then, pulling a white paper towel from a half depleted roll, he
wrapped it around his thumb. Finally he opened a second kitchen
drawer, directly below the knives drawer, which seemed to contain
just about everything. (Well, doesn't everyone have one of those?)
After fumbling for a few moments, he produced an orange colored
rubber band. With this he secured the paper towel in place, and
went back to the package.
was when he opened the box, his normally dull, uninspired blue
eyes lit up with glee.
a platinum typewriter!" he exclaimed.
the frightful throbbing of his bandaged thumb, Trevor smiled.
It was a big Cheshire cat sort of a smile, a smile that would
have surely made anyone else appear quite sinister, but somehow
looked strangely at home on Trevor's face. He bent over and picked
up the typewriter from the box and began to awkwardly carry it
to his office. Now maybe it was the paper towel on his thumb secured
by the rubber band, or maybe it was the sweat on his chubby fingers,
or maybe it had just been destined from the very moment he was
born, but the typewriter slipped from his grasp and landed squarely
on the big toe of his right foot.
'bollock' mantra once more began, only this time with a lot more
volume and passion, as he hopped around his modest sized house.
was when, five minutes later, he was soaking his swollen foot
a large bowl of iced water and Epsom salts back in the kitchen
that he noticed it.
second platinum colored envelope, smaller than the first, had
slipped from the box and was sitting under the table next to a
moldy bit of aged cheddar.
over to it, he bent over and reached down to pick it up. He grabbed
it in his fingers but then, possibly in all the excitement, misjudged
his straightening up gesture and firmly smashed his balding head
on the table.
he sat there, dizzy, under the table with his toe aching and his
thumb throbbinghe opened the card.
message was brief yet poignant.
hope this present brings you the luck that you so very well deserve,