Farewell
Sam Smith turned the envelope between his fingertips.
The elevator climbed the storeys.
Black paper.
Silver letters spelling only his name.
Top right corner: a raven beak.
Maybe the National Association of Ornithologists was throwing a party.
“Evening, Professor,” his neighbour said as Sam stepped into his flat.
Sam threw his laptop bag on the sofa. Hung his coat on the peg.
The tonic water cap fizzed in the cold light of the fridge.
The envelope stayed pinched between his fingers.
The first sip was crisp.
Not as crisp as he remembered.
He leaned against the kitchen counter.
Ran a finger along the glued edge.
The envelope opened without tearing.
The card inside was thick. Hard. Embossed.
»We invite you to the final journey and farewell of Professor Sam Smith. May he fly in the heavens now.«
Sam stared at the text.
Condensation slipped from the bottle to his fingers.
Silence.
Then he chuckled.
He fixed the card to the fridge with a black raven magnet.
Pulled out his phone.
Dialled.
Voicemail.
“Got your mail. Brilliant prank, mate. You had me for a few seconds.”
He hung up.
Still chuckling, he dropped onto the sofa.
He fell asleep without noticing the clocks had stopped ticking.
-ck