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It's getting dark again, and I am so cold... There's a draft coming from that stupid, useless letter box from which nothing interesting ever comes. They usually dump all sorts of leaflets through it, but not this week, of course.
I can't believe my luck...
I got all my Christmas cards last week, I suppose. And now it's Thursday the 30th. It was such a great idea to hang the calendar in the hall, last year, so now I can keep track of the days. Tomorrow is my last chance, I know, because after tomorrow it will be Saturday the first of January, then Sunday and then Bank Holiday.

Three days without mail... and the year Two Thousand starting; how ironic!
But tomorrow is Friday, the last day of the twentieth century and my last chance. Perhaps a late Christmas card will come, or some publicity... even a bill would be welcome! I wouldn't mind paying a three hundred pounds electric bill, as long as the postman come! But I must stay alert, I mustn't doze off. Please God help me, please, please help me, make the postman come.

What time is it? Oh God don't, please don't, oh no, he's been here already, there's something on the mat, why wouldn't you wake me up, why is this happening to me? I was awake at seven, I was waiting for the postman, why did you let me fall asleep again? Do I really have to die?"
The wind has started blowing again; I can hear it hissing through the silent suburban lanes, whistling around each corner, gaining strength in its upward race... I can hear it playing havoc in my front garden, stopping on my doorstep, laughing at me, and here it comes through the letter box, nagging, nagging, doing it in purpose, I'm so cold...

What are you staring at, you useless, meaningless, hopeless postcard on the doormat? You fell and landed silently without waking me, and you're still standing there against the door, just to remind me of my predicament! What am I going to do? Nothing, I can do nothing. What's going to happen? Nothing' s going to happen, it's New Year's Eve and there's nobody around.

The phone, the phone is ringing... The answering machine I was so proud of, with my personalized message is answering: "If you don't find me here I guess I'm out having a life, so please do leave a message."
That's it: this is the end. No one is going to come by; three days of fun on my own, that's what I 'm left with, three long days of cold, hunger and desperation lying on the floor in my hallway....

...The end is taking an awful time to come... I am drifting in and out of consciousness,

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