Dear Neighbors! by Julius Olofsson
*TW; mention of suicide
Dear Neighbors!
I’ve decided to take my own life, and my remains can be found in my apartment on the third floor. I’ve put a pink post-it note on the door, just so that you really know which one it is.
Firstly, I want to apologize if anyone is offended, but I don’t really have anywhere else to turn.
I don’t want to stress you with reasons why I did this. Instead, I want to ask some of you a favor and then maybe explain some things.
My door isn’t locked, so you can just go inside. I’ve put out some homemade cookies, you know the ones from last year’s Christmas mingle?
I know some might be squeamish, so you’re not going to walk into a scene with blood, I’ve simply taken some pills, and I even placed a towel over my face and upper torso so as not to offend or scare anyone.
But as I’m somewhat lonely, I would greatly appreciate it if someone either:
goes in and just makes sure that I’ve actually died
or call an ambulance or whoever you call when someone’s already dead
Partly I don’t want to cause any issues with stenches, I think we all remember when Bjoernson went on vacation and then didn’t take out his trash, and there’s also risk of bacteria or maggots and such, and we don’t want that now do we?
Also, I’d greatly appreciate it if you would refrain from stealing anything dear to me. To make things easier, I’ve made a small list of what those things are:
● my diary
● my green dress with sequins on (I also want to be buried in that dress!)
● a porcelain doll my mother once gave me
● a postcard on my fridge that my late husband Victor sent me when he visited Spain
So, in advance, I say: Thank You!
But there are plenty of things you can take, and I wouldn’t consider it stealing. Instead that those things come to good use. So I’ve made a list of that too:
● my clothes (a lot of them I never got to wear, and the dress I wore at my daughter’s funeral has only been worn once!)
● the TV. Victor insisted on buying one of those big ones, but I never got used to it
● my blender (it’s still working)
● my books (they might not hold any value, but they’re excellent!)
I do hope these things will come in handy for someone, and it’s first come, first serve, I’m afraid. Also, if you want to grab the TV but NOT check if I’m truly dead, please close the door when you leave, or a child might come in and see a corpse, which is just not right. That child might be scared for life!
Finally, I have some confessions and things I want to say.
I was the one who let that burglar into the building (but that’s not the reason for my demise!). But the young man was friendly and didn’t feel like a burglar at all. But I’m fully aware that Larsson lost a lot of stuff that day, but I just couldn’t bring myself to confess. But I can promise that I’ve not let in anyone since then! But, when I think of it, Larsson is more or less a borderline hoarder anyways?
And this one is for Sara on the fifth floor: I’m sorry I didn’t return your blender all those years ago. But it didn’t feel like you used it (it was more or less in pristine condition when I got it), and the years just went by, and you stopped asking for it. Maybe you forgot it? But then you bought a new one. However, after 5 years, I consider a borrowed item as ‘mine.’ So yeah…there you have it. Maybe the lesson is that you shouldn’t buy stuff you don’t need!
There’s also something I want to get off my chest. I don’t like our mailman. You know the stocky guy who never seems to shave. You hear his footsteps in the entire building, no MATTER WHICH FLOOR HE’S ON! Obviously, he needs more exercise, so I’m sorry to say, but I was the one who jammed the elevator doors last April. I deemed it necessary for his own well-being. But I understand that others might have experienced…issues, and there were a lot of yappin’ about Mrs. Karen’s heart attack and that if the elevator would’ve worked, she’d still be alive. But there’s always a lot of woulda, shoulda and such. Come to think of it, there’s been plenty of complaining recently. Like about my showering! I’ll shower when the hell I WANT! Don’t tell me it’s ‘too late’ and that you hear the water running! And how difficult is it to just shut the fuck up in the elevator? Just because two people ride an elevator doesn’t mean they have to chit-chat! And why the hell do I have to help out during cleaning day?! IT’S NOT MY DIRT AND TRASH! I always brush off my shoes when it’s snowing! I also wonder why kids are allowed to run in the corridors?! Like idiots, they run, screaming bloody murder! Their moms and dads should be executed for failing as parents!
You know what? Scratch that first bit with me taking pills! You people might benefit from some realness, so instead, I’ll grab that flare gun down in the caretaker’s office he has for some reason and shove it in my mouth and blast my head off and splatter my brain all over the walls!! THAT’LL SHOW YOU AND I’LL FUCKING SPIT ON THE COOKIES TOO! (they’re already baked, so it’d be a waste to chuck them)
I hope you fucking get traumatized! And keep your hands off my stuff!
Kindly / Mrs. Thorson
"I wrote it and felt smart, using strikethroughs and whatnot, but in the end, it didn't mean anything or say anything; it was just me: hoping to be smart, but being an idiot."
Born in Sweden, Julius (he/him) works as a narrative designer in video games. He writes anything from flash fiction and books to games and screenplays and makes his own sausages in his spare time. He's been longlisted in The Bath Short Story Award, The Bath Flash Fiction Award and The Aurora Prize for Writing and is published in JAKE Magazine.