Tales From The Town #165: A Postcard From Deep Beneath The Sea

The Picture On The Postcard

Jellyfish illuminate the murky depths. There is nothing else to see.

The Writing On The Postcard

Beneath the sea there’s another sea and beneath that another, each one as distinct from the other as the land is from the sky. And beneath even that there’s the true surface of the earth, as alien to us and as unknowable as whatever it is that waits below the clouds of Jupiter, whatever it is that still sleeps and dreams in the heart of the sun.

The Reaction To The Postcard

Tina: “Dad’s kind of strange really, isn’t he?”

Ethel: “Very strange.”

Daniel: “Maybe he’s a merman now!”

Tina: “He’s not a merman, Daniel.”

Ethel: “He can’t even swim underwater.”

Daniel: “So how is he even breathing down there at the bottom of the sea with all those jellyfish he’s friends with now?”

Claire: “He’s not breathing down there because he’s dead!

Tina: “Claire can you please stop saying Dad’s dead. It’s very upsetting.”

Ethel: “And we all know he isn’t dead at all anyway.”

Claire: “Well he might as well be! And we definitely don’t know that at all, Ethel. For all we know he’s been dead for weeks.”

Ethel: “Then how come he’s sending us all these postcards?”

Claire: “He obviously sent them ages ago. And then he died before they arrived.”

Daniel: “Because he sent them from SPACE! And UNDER THE SEA!

Claire: “Exactly!”

Tina: “And also a nearby town.”

Claire: “Which town?”

Ethel: “One that’s almost but not exactly like this town.”

Claire: “That could be anywhere!”

Tina: “What about the one he sent us from the castle?”

Ethel: “And that one he sent from the woods? The woods aren’t far away at all!”

Claire: “What castle? Which woods?”

Tina (pointing out the window): “That castle! And those woods!”

Claire: “Yeah well maybe he forgot to post those ones until he was already in space. And then he died AS he posted them. And that’s why he forgot to sign his name to the bottom of them OR put a date on them to say when he posted them. It would also explain why that one’s all covered in blood.”

Tina: “Actually I think that’s just jam.”

Claire: “Why would dad cover his postcards in jam?”

Daniel: “Maybe Dad lives in the toaster now! And also the postcards pop out of the toaster when he’s written them! And then they land in some jam for some reason.”

Ethel: “The reason is because Claire spilt all the jam because she drinks it straight out of the jar like it’s a milkshake.”

Claire: “I do not!”

Daniel: “I do!”

Claire:Daniel! You’re not supposed to admit it!”

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Notes:

1. The postcard was written on May 16th, 2024
2. And the reaction to the postcard was written on May 22nd, 2024

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Tales From The Town #157: A Postcard From The Depths Of Space

The Picture On The Postcard

A sea of stars, and in the middle a tiny little spaceship all alone out there in the vast infinities of space

The Writing On The Postcard

Out here in space sleep forms 99% of your life.

The sleep of boredom and tiredness
of stasis
and time dilation

Endless sleep
without even the solace of dreams

The Reaction To The Postcard

“That postcard came from space!” said Daniel. “That is so cool.”

“I don’t think it actually came from space, Daniel,” Tina said.

“But imagine if it did!”

“I think it just came from wherever all these other postcards keep coming from,” Tina said, as she held up the other ones they’d received on and off for a few weeks now, about things like mysterious towers, abandoned shops, cats, castles, forests, days.

“Maybe they also came from space,” Daniel said hopefully.

“Nothing came from space, Daniel,” Ethel said. “Not unless Nanny sent us some liquorice from the moon again.”

“Well they must be coming from somewhere,” Daniel said, thinking as hard as he could. “And… from someone!”

“Very cleverly deduced, Daniel,” said Tina.

“But I wonder who they’re from…” Daniel pondered, ponderously.

(“They’re from Dad, aren’t they?” Ethel said, quietly. “Definitely Dad,” Tina said even more quietly somehow.)

“I suppose we’ll never know,” Daniel finally concluded. “It’s a mystery.” He looked at the latest postcard again one last time (definitely his favourite postcard). “A space mystery!”

“Dad’s dead,” Claire said, stomping into the room from wherever it was in the house she’d been stomping about before. “And his postcards are all stupid.” She snatched them up out of everyone’s hands. “And I am ILL!” She threw them all on the floor and stamped on them. “And this is the worst week ever!”

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Notes:

1. The space poem was written on May 10th, 2024
2. And the rest was written on May 14th, 2024

__________

Support An Accumulation Of Things

If you like the things you've read here please consider subscribing to my patreon or my ko-fi.

Patreon subscribers get not just early access to content and also the occasional gift, but also my eternal gratitude. Which I'm not sure is very useful, but is certainly very real.

(Ko-fi contributors probably only get the gratitude I'm afraid, but please get in touch if you want more).

Thank you!


On the futility of postcards

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Notes:

1. Written on the 28th June, 2018
2. All events occurred as depicted
3. And where depicted
4. And when

__________

Support An Accumulation Of Things

If you like the things you've read here please consider subscribing to my patreon or my ko-fi.

Patreon subscribers get not just early access to content and also the occasional gift, but also my eternal gratitude. Which I'm not sure is very useful, but is certainly very real.

(Ko-fi contributors probably only get the gratitude I'm afraid, but please get in touch if you want more).

Thank you!