Or
Revenge is best served with super glue?
Jazzy took the business sized letter from the mailman without even looking at it. Mail in any form meant work. They chatted for a moment about the forecast: snow. That dreaded S word. It was as effective as saying a real colorful metaphor. A true slap across the face. Snow. The ultimate winter blues.
As she inspected the letter, a shutter crept from her toes to her brain and back. THE IRS! What did Uncle Sam want? A kidney was about all she had left. Maybe if she didn’t open it. Didn’t read it. This would go away?
With great hesitation, she slid her finger into the fold of the letter. It groaned like an obstinate child staring at a plate of broccoli. This maneuver had open hundreds, dare she think, thousands of letters. But not this one. A hunk of paper the size of a dine fell to the floor. Using the same technique, she tried again. The envelope tore in a Florida shaped pattern to the bottom then back up centimeters from her finger.
What had Uncle Sam used to seal this letter? Super glue? He could have saved the $3.00, used a sponge and water. Much cheaper. But it was the government after all. They made nothing easy. Or cheap.
Her frustration was mounting. What was so special about this dookie eatin’ letter? She shuck the envelope, praying the letter would glide effortlessly to the floor. At this point, bending over would have been joyous.
WRONG! The envelope stuck to her finger. When she pulled it loose, the sound of utter astonishment escaped her, a hunk of skin lunged from her hand. Defiantly staying with the envelope. Now a small corner of the envelope was stained red. Her finger stung. A sad drop of blood ran down toward her palm. “SH…” But the remaining characters stayed under her breath.
She tore the letter from the envelope. The simple act of unfolding the letter, highlighted the fact that the envelope was still attached.
“Why?” Her voice was laden with defeat. That stubborn envelope got one more dig in. As she ripped it from the back of the page; it was a the right angle to give her a sizable paper cut. And as we all know, few things hurt worse?
What else was Uncle Sam going to do to her? Her nerves were shattered. One finger was bleeding. Another was stinging. Annoyed frustration oozed through her veins. The simple act of opening a letter had her ready to hit the sauce.
“YES!” She had it. This letter was possessed. Had to be. Why else was it trying so hard to hurt her?
A possessed letter from the IRS. Fantastic!
With the flick of her wrist, the envelope went sailing through the air toward the trash can. Bye, bye demon from the government. Alas no. MISSED! The mangled envelope lay in the floor. As close as a lovers touch to the trash can. There it was taunting her.
Poetry & More 