Postal (Chapter 1)

It's seems like I've gained a few more readers for this blog. Special shoutout to my fellow 2013 Scholars, you're kind comments have completely rekindled my love of writing and I can't wait to get to know you guys more for the next few years :)

Here's a short story I've written ages ago (completely different from the ones already posted -- my mind is just filled to the brim with half-baked ideas) so instead of letting it gather dust on my desktop, I decided to share with you all. Also because a certain someone insisted I continue with my short stories (yes, Julius, this means you).

So enjoy! :)


Postal

The soft jingle of the bicycle’s bell echoed in the still, early morning. Speeding off like a bullet, the little boy mounted on top of the bike stopped pedaling as he reached the slope and went downwards, letting gravity supply the momentum.


He had always loved the hill-like roads of Ashenshire. The feeling of going up and down, against and with gravity, made his heart pound. Sometimes if he rode fast enough the tires of his bicycle would float a few inches off the ground as he glided over the top of the incline and for those few seconds before they came back down, it felt like he was flying.

An old canvas satchel was swung around his left shoulder, a slightly bulkier and rectangular one seated on the basket of the bike. He wore the clothes of any young boy — a pair of jeans, a fitting tee, and to cope with the cold rainy season, a pair of Wellington boots and a jacket. A grey denim beret rested at a slant on his head, tufts of wild, curly, chocolate brown hair peeking underneath.

He pulled back on the bike’s brakes and screeched to a stop in front of a small one-story house. He set up its stand and walked to the front porch, rummaging through his satchel.

Most people would think he was one of the newspaper boys, doing his rounds but the fact was, he was not. In his own eyes especially, the boy saw what he did every morning as a matter of grand importance. He didn’t have the responsibility of delivering news of the world to people’s doorsteps, most of which had nothing to do with him or attracted his concern. His duty was to help people sustain their connections and relationships with each other, be a bridge that relayed communication. He delivered their mail.

He pulled out a small bundle of letters, some thin, some thick, some small, some wide, but all of which were addressed to a Mrs. Hansten. The lad walked cheerfully up the steps and bent down onto his knees in front of a white, flower-patterned door so that his eyes became level with a metal, gold-painted slot. He began to slide the post through it when the door suddenly swung back, the appearance of a slim figure sending him tumbling backwards, landing on his bottom.

Mrs. Hansten in her blue cotton bathrobe was equally surprised and called out, "Alfie! I thought I heard someone coming. Heavens, dear, you scared me out of my wits!"

"Sorry, Mrs. Hansten," Alfie replied politely. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted to deliver your mail!" Alfie held out the letters for her to take.

The old woman gave a small laugh. "Of course you are, dear. Why else would you be here?" Mrs. Hansten undid the rubber band and quickly glanced at the letters taking on a slight look of distaste. Bills, Alfie reckoned. Her expression suddenly turned to one of pure delight once she got to the bottom of the pile and Alfie personally knew it was the letter she waiting for. A letter from her son.

Alfie smiled inwardly. "Well, then, I must get going! Post to be delivered and such." He turned on his heel and began to set off.

"What's the rush, Alfie? Come inside and have a nice cup of tea, it's almost freezing out here. You're awfully early as it is."

"Couldn't sleep last night, I'm afraid," Alfie shared. "Not to worry, I'm perfectly fine! Early morning's the best time to deliver the mail, before anyone's awake. Imagine someone waking up and seeing they have no mail!"

"Oh, that would be tragic!" Mrs. Hansten joined in with slightly exaggerated shock.

"Maybe some other time then." Alfie had kicked back the stand and settled down on its leather seat, checking the next address on his delivery route. "Good day, Mrs. Hansten!" he greeted over his shoulder as he pedalled away.

"Good day, Alfie!" Mrs. Hansten smiled fondly. The boy was always a breath of fresh air during his stops. And such a kind heart he was, delivering the mail without asking for a single penny as payment.

She gently squeezed the yellow-enveloped letter in her hand. It was postmarked yesterday and without the local mail-boy's help it surely would've reached her much later.

In all honesty, his visits made her rusty soul feel less lonely, not that she was the kind to ever admit she was. Now impatient with anticipation she crudely ripped the envelope and unfolded the letter.

I'm coming home soon, read the first line.

And maybe Mrs. Hansten would not be so lonely anymore.

9 comments:

Barney Stinson said...

Awesome! This post is legen...wait for it...

Creator of Things said...

... Dary! OHMAGOD Mr Stinson I'm a huge faaaan! I read YOUR awesome blog!

Barney Stinson said...

You know, i'm currently searching for a talented writer to bring up my dream as a publisher. And guess what? I finally found you! Do you mind flying over to NY and sign a contract? You can spend the night at my place, though...

Robin Scherbatsky said...

BARNEY! That is disgusting, get off this blog right now!

Barney Stinson said...

Pffft, dear "robin" a.k.a whoever you are... I LOVE THIS LADY AND YOU CAN'T STOP ME!

*flies away jetpack*

Ted Mosby said...

.....i think i'm in love with you.....

Lily Eriksen said...

TED don't Mosby the poor girl...

Stella Zinman said...

*meaningful cough*

Victoria said...

TED, WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING HERE?

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