100-Word Fiction: The Last Post

The old man opened the door.

I’ve a parcel for you, said the post lady.

Oh fantastic, said the man in a high, wheezy voice: It’s from my son. He’s away in Australia. Married. I have two granddaughters.

Can you sign here, asked the post lady. Here, I’ve a pen.

The old man signed: You’ve made my day, he said.

No problem.

The post lady took the pen, nodded and headed back to the rusty gate and the road of little houses.

In his living room, sat in his chair, the man unpacked his parcel slowly – and began to sob.

Published by MW Bewick

Writer of poetry and place; editor and journalist. Co-founder of Dunlin Press. Books including Pomes Flixus, The Orphaned Spaces and Scarecrow are available from http://dunlinpress.bigcartel.com

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