You wake up one morning to find a beautifully wrapped package next to your bed. Attached to it is a note: “Open me, if you dare.” What’s inside the mystery box? Do you open it?
Christmas morning and a package next to the bed. I am the Christmas grinch, I do not do Christmas, but perhaps someone took pity. Oh, it looks suspicious and I can hear it ticking. Is it a secret admirer, one of my fans from another place, but no there is a label attached daring me to open it. There must be thousands of my followers watching every step of my blogging fingers as I resolve the problem. Will she open it, or not?
I am not really the inquisitive type and I could throw it out into the garbage, but … yes, it might be my long expected Pulitzer prize, although I thought that it would be more an official affair. Walking onto the stage, having my hand shaken by someone famous like Brad Pitt or the president of Switzerland, although I forgot his name, or was it a lady?
Come on Mrs. Angloswiss, get a grip on yourself. Just because a parcel is ticking it does not mean there is a bomb inside, but what else ticks? I know, I will take a photo of it. If it explodes at least the photo can be used as proof. There is something strange about this parcel, it is hovering. Parcels do not hover they are solid and are grounded. A message from another world, I am the chosen one, I will become blogger of the cyber world, an icon to lead others into hopes of being freshly pressed or appearing in the list of top blogs, although how someone arrives in this list has not yet been discovered.
I think I will open it. I move closer to the parcel and stretch out my hands but it moved. I am sure it moved. It glided away from my finger tips. Did I hear a murmur from inside the parcel? Angloswiss get a grip, it is only paper and cardboard with a bow. I am challenged, “if I dare” of course I dare. I cut the ribbon with my scissors, yes. Oh, it screamed as I made a cut, it really screamed and what do I see? A red trickle appearing from the cut edges of the ribbon. Umm, not very sweet, leaves a bitter taste behind. Is it blood? If only Uncle Vlad was here. He was born in Transylvania and would immediately tell me, even the group. He is an expert on blood groups.
Oh, get a hold on yourself, just rip it off. Aww, I cut myself on the edge of the ribbon. I am bleeding but am still alive. Now for the paper which seems to be stuck together with a special tape, it has letters engraved in the tape but they are not so clear to read. There is something that looks like a “p” and there is a “w” but the other letters are invisible. Just a minute the tape is dissolving. Really as I watch it, it disintegrates before my eyes. There we have it, a parcel from a secret organisation with self-destructing sticky tape.
I am progressing. A box appears with holes made in it and the ticking is louder. Now I hear regular metallic noises, as if a machine was breathing with regular movments. I am still alive and have come this far. What could possibly go wrong? A lot, but it is not every day that a parcel mysteriously appears next to the bed.
“Mr. Swiss, Mr. Swiss” - no answer. Perhaps he has been assassinated by something out of this world or perhaps he is practicing on his drums in the cellar. I have to face the revenge of the parcel on my own, although I have a sneaking suspicion. A “W” and a “P” it can only be one thing. There was a flash and a bang and it jumped out of the parcel with its piercing eyes and claws.
“Wordy what are you doing here. You gave me a shock.”
“Mrs. Angloswiss it is my Christmas surprise from the Wordys of this world. We have a gift for you, look.”
And Wordy stood in my bedroom (glad Mr. Swiss had disappeared, although robots are usually harmless) and he was holding a clock.
“Wordy, what is that clock? That really frightened me, a parcel that ticks. No Wordy, do not cry, have a turkey sandwich, made from our Christmas turkey.”
“Sorry Mrs. Angloswiss we Wordys are very sensitive, especially to loud voices. Look at this clock closely.”
“Yes Wordy, a strange clock it only has a sign for 2 o’clock.”
“Mrs. Swiss what happens daily at 2 o’clock? You receive the daily prompt. It rings regularly to ensure you do not miss it. A gift from me to you on behalf of WordPress.”
“Oh, I see.”
“You sound disappointed Mrs. Angloswiss.”
“A WordPress t-shirt might have been more suitable in size XXL. Your prompts do not always arrive on time, not to mention the disappearing pingbacks. No Wordy stop crying and eat your turkey sandwich.”
So now I know the secret of the parcel next to my bed, and if WordPress are on time with their future prompts, I will be well organised with this special alarm clock.
Epilogue: Yes the next day at 2 o’clock in the afternoon I was excited to see what would happen. It chimed “bong, bong” and then exploded showering me with the lost pingbacks. Oh well, I suppose it is the thought that counts.
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