Letter to Nobody

John Smith started clearing the tabletop of his year-old mess. Documents, letters, faxes, strewn all over. At this moment, it was as if his mother gave him a kick in the head and said, " Son, pack up your room! It ain't gonna pack itself."

"yes, mother.." he muttered undered his breath.

Boy, what a fine, and opportune time life gives to let you handle all the little nitty-grits that could never find its way up the priority list, he thought. Just one week after he has been sent to the "firing squad" of cubicle proportions. And his boss, yes, that stupid fat, black man, who has nothing but donuts and coffee on his desk all day, had relieved him of his duties, because he had failed his performance evaluation. He knew it was always an evil scheme designed by the HR people to boot people they couldn't stand, and he always knew his days there were numbered.

Anyway, what's not to like about that? It's not like he had much of a future there. Working 9-5 as an accountant wasn't the most glamorous kind of life that he wanted. Getting fired wasnt all bad, there's always that silver lining or even a couple of them. he finally managed to get his home cleaned up, cleared the garbage, fixing that stubborn engine and even that irritating leak from the water pipe that was seeping through the ceiling. And finally, there he was. sorting out his letters, some of which had already turned yellow from neglect.

The room wasn't exactly spacious, the air was kinda musty and smelled like old socks but he was used to it. It was so crammed that he had to do some sort of weird dance everytime he went in and out of it just to avoid knocking over all the worn-out furniture. There he was doing it again, and on the last twist out of the room, he missed a step in the routine and went into some kind of spiral-like downwards projection, like the end of the drama where the female lead falls dead into the man's arm in an all too dramatic way.

Groaning, and moaning. He laid there on the floor for awhile, before getting up to a sudden realisation that his life sucks. And this reminded him of a certain screwed up song from Avenue Q. And while his brain was filled with squeaky voices of little puppets singing, he noticed a certain writing under the desk. It was titled "A letter to Nobody".

Salmon, signing out.