Captain Harry

The prompt is: A man receives a package with no return address.
It contains a pirate-style eye patch and a note.



“Beep beep beep beep. Beep beep beep beep.”


Harold reached out a hand and pushed the button to turn off the alarm clock. Damned thing was the bane of his existence, always catapulting him into the real world just as he was enjoying his dreams. He always had such vivid, colourful dreams. So different from reality.


“Oh well,” he thought to himself, “no use lying around in bed all day. Better get up and face the world.”


It was a Monday, and Harold hated Mondays. He worked as an insurance underwriter at a multinational bank, and the thought of another whole week of it made him want to reach for the Prozac. He stepped over a beer can and some dirty pants as he made his way to the bathroom. The room was such a mess; he really ought to tidy it one day. In fact, his whole house was a mess. Always had been. Well, that’s what happened when you didn’t have a wife to clean up after you, or so his mother used to say. Harold had never been married. Not from choice, but just because he had never really loved a woman; not for a long time anyway...


He had a quick shower, got dressed, and ate a bowl of cornflakes in front of the morning news as he opened his post. There were three envelopes. The first was a gas bill. The second was a lurid birthday card from his friend Jimmy.


“Of course, how could I have forgotten? It’s my 50th birthday today!” he exclaimed to no-one in particular.


It was true- he had forgotten his own birthday, and a big one at that. Must be old age setting in. He wouldn’t be doing anything special to celebrate, probably just go down the pub for a drink with Jimmy and a couple of the lads from work. He was pleasantly surprised that Jimmy had remembered. At least someone thought of him. Having a birthday as an adult was such a downer compared with birthdays as kids. All the cake and balloons and presents, and having friends round from school, and the mums sat round gossiping while we played silly games. Those were the days. It just wasn’t the same anymore. No cake, no silly games, not even his Mum. She had died a few years back.


He was almost late for work, just enough time to open the last envelope. It looked quite interesting; it was bigger and bulkier than the others, and had a strange postmark. Hmm, maybe a silly present from the lads? He tore the envelope open carefully and extracted a letter that had been written on pretty hand-made paper. His friends were more likely to use a post-it note than hand-made paper. Strange. He read the curly handwriting aloud:



Dear Harry

Happy 50th birthday! See, I told you I wouldn’t forget.

It has been 40 years to the day since I saw you last, and I thought you might need a reminder of the good old days, and of me.

I bet you’ve forgotten all about me, I told you you would. You’ve probably got a lovely wife and kids and maybe even grandkids by now, and such a busy life that you can’t possibly remember something so distant. And I bet you’re a pilot, just like you always wanted to be. You are certainly clever enough! Well, good for you.

As for me, I’m quite content with my three cats in my tiny cottage by the sea. I make enough money selling my landscapes to get by.

You’ll probably laugh at my silliness and chuck this letter away, so I won’t put my address on, to spare you any bother. But a promise is a promise, and I promised that I would find you and write to you in 40 years’ time if we ever lost touch. So I have.

Remember how we thought we’d be best friends forever? And how we’d never get old? I remember you saying to me that you’d never get as old as 50, and if you did we’d be living on the moon by then and they would have invented a cure for death.

Well, I won’t bore you any longer.

I have enclosed something to remember me by, hope you like it. I’ll never forget that summer of ’66! And I’ll never forget you, Harry.

Love from Mary.



Harold let the contents of the envelope fall onto his open palm. And with that simple movement, the dust of forty years was washed away.


He was a ten year old boy, sprinting along the beach and chasing a beautiful blonde-haired girl of the same age. They were playing their favourite game- pirates- and she had just stolen the flag from his ship.


“I’m going to get you Mary! And when I do, it’ll be the sharks for you. No-one messes with Captain Harry!”


Her laugher tinkled toward him, and she turned to flash a cheeky grin his way, never slowing down. She was his best friend. They would be friends forever, and they would never get old. Mary.


Harold looked at the gift lying on his palm, the best birthday present he’d ever had: a pirate’s eye-patch made of his mother’s sewing cast-offs one summer morning a lifetime ago.


He sat down heavily, the letter clasped in one hand, the eye-patch in the other. And the tears that welled up and rolled slowly down his cheek were the taste of the salty sea.


He made two phone calls. The first was to work to say that he wouldn’t be coming in today. He didn’t even give a reason. Perhaps he’d never go back. For the second, he found the Yellow Pages and looked under ‘F’.


“Yes, hello, I would like to book a set of flying lessons. Starting as soon as possible, please.”


He would be Captain Harry once again.