Return to sender

Contemporary methods

Seven in the evening came and went and still no word - no delivery, no call from the front gate, nothing. Suffering from a bout of self questioning introversion, Levi tapped his finger tips on the rim of a glass, loose hold around the top as the receptacle sat safely on a wooden surface. Perhaps he'd seemed too needy, too overly keen to strike up some kind of correspondence chain, too goddamn weird. Or maybe his picture had put you off - sure, he wasn't exactly bad looking, however not everyone liked the same kind of things, each person's aesthetic markers set at all different levels. It could just be one of those things, he mused as liquor was sipped from that same lazy grip, warming fluid settling in his stomach and readying the man for the walk home in what he imagined may be another pisser of a storm.

Even if you had been so inclined as to expedite a response again, it might've been placed to one side given the time, executive decision made by the courier and delaying his new reason to enjoy waking in the morning. Levi wasn't an individual prone to depression or darkness, so to say he struggled to get out of bed each day didn't point towards troubles necessarily, it was just out of pure apathy; rise, work, sleep, repeat. Occasionally someone would catch his eye, provide some break in the monotony but it was always the same - not enough. Whatever was going on here between the pair of you seemed innocent yet borderline, the ancient methods providing an almost Victorian sense of correctness whilst some of the content strolled into more risqué territory, a combination which he found immensely intriguing. He'd never thought in a million years that his initial letter would've been replied to, let alone continued into others so to expect a further note...that might be wishful thinking.

Finishing off the remaining drink, Levi sighed and grabbed his keys, ready for the journey back into an empty home, a place which would be filled with nothing but the ticks of his grandfather clock, an antique that suited his house and this whole area; old, weathered, but still functional for now. He pulled a jacket on and flicked off the lights, plunged into darkness as the man ascended, no bulbs needed as he knew this route well, room both his prison and comfort for quite some time. Whilst the grumbles sounded like he hated everything in his life, the truth would perhaps surprise some people, reason for living here more deep than just originally hailing from this area.

The rain beat down sideways, wind creating a horizontal torrent that soaked him instantly, shoes deftly avoiding puddles as the large lamps of the front yard illuminated watery pools, shimmering ripples rather hypnotic. Along with the sound of a storm was an unforgettable noise, black night too thick to show the source from this angle but it was inimitable - waves crashing on stone, ravaging a small beach, smashing into docks that had stood the test of time. The sea was as destructive as it was beautiful, a powerful force that had provided this town with it's livelihood for centuries. It used to be fish, smuggled goods, treats from far away lands...and now, as Levi made no hurry to reach the gate, it was fucking boring ass imports, all coming through him in paper form as the physical items remained in their steely containers, ready to be loaded onto trucks and taken to larger settlements.

Nodding to the security guard, the threshold was almost breached when two lights came close, wipers swishing furiously at a windscreen and the van screeched to a stop, tyres slipping on wet concrete. Unprepared to step out into the deluge, the driver cracked a window and yelled.

"Delivery for Levi?"

"Yes!" Raising an arm, the pale man showed his identity and rushed over, transaction taking place through a tiny space of a slightly open door, envelope already wrapped in plastic to protect it from the elements. Shoving it under his clothing to provide more care, Levi thanked the rather fraught looking courier and waited for him to speed away, steps now taken with urgency.

Cursing the need to get dried first, he peeled off cold, damp fabric, items tossed straight into the washer and a comfortable towelled robe was wrapped around his shivering body, hair rubbed in a perfunctory manner to avoid excess drips. Fire stoked, wine poured, he eventually came to a place where he could sit and savour your latest offering, that same smell reaching a freezing nose.