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Marvin Makes A Sandwich

by Josie Heaney 3 years ago in satire
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Marvin Is Hungry

"Sandwich needs a moistener"

One July happened to contain a Tuesday afternoon that was indeed remarkable only for its unremarkability. But as is all too often proved, dullness can be more offensive than any incident of a chaotic nature. As with dullness, order and subjugation are the unnatural order of the day.

Marvin Hunkly had indeed fought against his true nature for quite some time. He enforced an order on his chaos that was indeed not natural for his clockwork mind and all the springs had popped loose from over tightened thoughts. Imagine if you will please most imagine-ingly a room. A daylight curtained bedsit cornered in Belsize type of room. Dimly lit so much so that it could be mistaken for smokey, as a sunlight sliver illuminated the creation of a dusty ever moving room beam.

Marvin's musky oppressed sitting frame sunkenly stared out of a sofa which doubled as a bed. If you will please dear reader a sofa bed. He sat with a palm up hand under each thigh. He was the very picture of a 40 year old basset hound in the week old milky face.

He had been in his flat for days. In that time he had managed not to shower or change his underwear or jeans. He had removed his shirt revealing a frame that suggested his body died of TB some months previous but neglected to tell his brain to stop living. Marvin let out a loose wet cough. The hurt made his eyes stream, that and the slow blinking. After coughing, Marvin did a sore swallow.

Many bottles lay dispirited around him and although it was true to say that he was indeed in a bad way Marvin had not got the commitment to be an alcoholic. In order to have an addictive personality, he would need the guts to have a personality, rather than a series of the affectations that were imposed to give the impression of a normal life.

Marvin felt a gurgle then a pain stabbingly stabbed at him.

"Ouch! That's hurty," he moaned

"I must be hungry"

It was hard to move after days of almost catatonic immobility but Marvin shuffled his rickety frame to the kitchen area of his living quarters and undoored his fridge.

The joy he felt at finding unopened in date ham and a bit of hard cheese was the most elation he had ever truly felt in his life. It could indeed have all gone wrong when the discovery that there was no butter became apparent.

"Sandwich needs a moistener" he sighed

Some slightly soft tomatoes answered his prayers.

"Mmm tomatoes.. bit soft—they'll do"

With glee he loaded two slices of de-moulded just past best bread and created a cup of black tea in a mildly washed cup.

Marvin hadn't ever felt such joy.

He could do anything.

The world was his for the taking.

Who would have thought making your own food could be so satisfying.

"I'll have a shower after this and I'll go and talk to Barbara," he smilingly thought.

With a new found love of life, Marvin threw open the curtains and the daylight barged its obnoxious disposition into the room. A little daunted, but undeterred, Marvin bowled ahead, unshackling his windows outwards, and perching himself, tea, and saucered sandwich in order to eat and enjoy the day.

Marvin lived on the first floor and as he sat dazzled by sunlight after days of self imposed captivity desperately grabbing at his new lease on life, he let go of what he actually had in his hand.

His creation from nothing.

His cure for pain and hunger.

Marvin dropped his sandwich

"Sandwich," Marvin helplessly uttered as it crashed to the ground below.

Marvin was sad.

satire

About the author

Josie Heaney

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