My Word

My Word (291 words)

I sat at my desk to start work, but I wanted to get back in bed.

I felt sick with the flu, or it could've been Lyme’s disease, as there was a bite on my ankle, though it didn’t have the characteristic ring of a tick bite.

Instead of working, I decided to practice writing and opened up my personal laptop, which lived next to my work laptop, but before I could begin warming up with some simple sentences, a weird-looking email popped up.

It read: “I’m a rich prince from the land of Tweedle, but I’ve run into financial difficulties—” and so on.

I considered deleting it, but decided to have some fun instead. I’m not sure why. Perhaps a flu-induced delirium had set in.

Sunlight through the window warmed my back as I replied, “Dear Mr. Tweedle Prince, so sad to hear of your financial strife. Don’t have any money, but do have a spare room here, if only you were able to afford to travel all the way from Tweedle (wherever that is) to London. Sincerely, Leo.”

I sent my reply and, feeling clever, leaned back, stretching my arms up.

There was a knock at the door, which was strange because I seldom had visitors. I peered through the frosted glass of the door, and standing on the doorstep was the smallest man I’d ever seen.

“Can I help you?” I said.

“Don’t you recognize me?” he said.

“No,” I said.

“The spare room?”

“But, how—”

“I can tell you’re a man of your word. Up the stairs and to the left, right?”

The tiny man, wearing a lime-green suit, had a parrot on his shoulder as he lugged a giant suitcase into my house.

“My word—”