Write or Die #2 (The Parcel)


I had so much fun with the first Write or Die that I decided to do it again, this time writing a mini-story. I have edited this slightly by putting in the quotation marks and giving each speaker a new line to make it easier to read. Other than that, it is unedited.

Ding dong.

“Can I come in?”

“What’s that in the parcel?”

“This parcel?”

“Yes, that parcel.”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s my parcel, not your parcel.”

“But I want to know what’s in the parcel.”

“Yes, I’m sure you do but I’m not going to tell you.”

“Oh ok then. Do you want to come in for a cup of tea?”

“Yes ok but only if I can have it with milk.”

“I have milk.”

“I hope it’s proper milk and not that soya stuff.”

“Yes I have proper milk. From cows. You know, those things that go moo.”

“They don’t go moo, they say moo.”

“Whatever. You’re so pedantic.”

You’re so full of the wrong grammar.”

“Do you want tea or not?”

“Yes. Please.”

“Ok come in then. Bring your parcel. The secret mysterious parcel.”

“Do you want to know what’s in it?”


“Well, I’m not going to tell you.”


“Maybe not ever but definitely not now. At least not before my cup of tea anyway.”

“Do you want sugar?”

“Yes. But not if it’s that stupid brown stuff.”

“It’s white sugar. You’re very fussy, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Fussy is good. You want to know what’s in my parcel?”


“I’m not going to tell you.”

“You’re like a broken record.”

“You’re like a Barry Manilow record.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”


“Oh I see. Very funny. Not.”

“Can I have my tea now?”

“Do you want a biscuit?”

“Yes but only if it’s a proper biscuit and not a stupid digestive biscuit or god forbid a Rich Tea one.”

“I have chocolate hob nobs, is that ok?”

“Yes, chocolate hob nobs would be fine but only if it’s milk chocolate and not that stupid dark chocolate.”

“They are milk chocolate.”

“Do you want to know what’s in my parcel?”




“Really really?”

“Really really.”

“I will tell you if you want to know.”

“I don’t want to know.”



“Really really?”

“Oh don’t start that again. You’re like a broken record.”

“You already said that. Now who’s the broken record?”

“Oh shut up.”


“What’s in the parcel?”

“You said you didn’t want to know.”

“I don’t, I’m just making conversation.”

“I’m not going to tell you what’s in the parcel.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s my parcel, not yours.”


“So that means I’m not going to tell you.”

“I bet there’s nothing in the parcel.”


“Because you’re weird and would carry a parcel with nothing in it just so people ask you what’s in the parcel and you can say I’m not going to tell you. And then you can call them Barry Manilow records and weird shit like that.”

“You are a Barry Manilow record though.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Fucking hell, round and round.”

“Oh, you swore, I’m telling.”

“Who are you going to tell?”

“My parcel.”

“And that’s not weird?”




“Really really?”

“Really really?”

“You speak to parcels?”


“Do they speak back?”


“What do they say?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Why not?”

“Because that would be breaching owner/parcel confidentiality. It’s a trust thing. You wouldn’t know anything about that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re a Barry Manilow record.”

“I’m going to hit you in a minute.”

“Swearing and violence, most becoming on a young lady.”

“How long have you had your parcel?”

“About two days.”

“And you’ve been carrying it around with you for two days?”


“Have you finished your tea and biscuit?”


“You can leave now if you want to.”

“Ok then.”

“Take your parcel with you.”

“I might leave it here but you must promise not to open it.”

“I don’t want your parcel. Take it with you. Close the door on your way out please.”




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