The Person From The Future

A repetition

The whole week had been full of noise. Louder than it had been during the summer Holliday's. Now the schools had started again people didn't seem to sleep in during the weekend as much as they had in the previous weeks. There were more people, more dogs and more bicycle bells. it was annoying. Especially the people that woke up a little earlier to take a walk with their dogs. Whenever they would meet another they started talking and they would talk for a long time. Not to mention the dogs, each time one saw another the barking only got worse and louder. So much louder.

Still I sat here, in front of my windowsill. On Saturday, the fifth of September, at 6:34 am. The first week of school was done for most of the kids in the neighborhood. I felt glad I didn't have to go to those places anymore. I also felt glad I could drive a car instead of having to cycle everywhere. At least now I always felt warm and cozy during cold winters, even while being on the road.

When it seemed that I was waiting for quite a while I glanced back at the clock. The hours Had slowly passed, 7:00 am turned to 8:00 am which had turned to 10:00 am. I Hadn't seen them nor their red bicycle. They hadn't crossed the road, hadn't delivered the mail.

I placed the blue envelope, still closed, down on my desk. Maybe they were sick? That would probably be it, I'd see them next week for sure. they would've let me know if they weren't going to deliver the mail right?

Next week was practically a repetition of the week before.

With anticipation I had waited. It was Saturday, the twelfth of September, 6:00 am on the dot. I sat in my chair, legs bouncing on the floor. I felt nervous, but they'd come. They would definitely come I was sure of it.

But they didn't. When my eyes caught sight of the brown postal bag I knew it for sure. Someone else was delivering the mail. Someone with a plain black bicycle. They threw the papers randomly on the driveways, not caring if the dogs tore them to shreds, just wanting to finish the job as quickly as possible while mindlessly tapping away on their phone.

That person wasn't them.

That meant that they weren't the mail carrier anymore. They wouldn't walk past my house with their red bicycle on Saturday mornings because they didn't have to anymore.

After realizing that I slipped back under the sheets. They had cooled of when I had looked out of the window. I shivered, but nestled into my pillow. I didn't want to go downstairs, to go down to the front door to pick up the daily paper laying in my driveway. I'd get it some other time.

The window was closed, curtains pulled shut. My room was filled with static noise and dim light. That was the way I preferred it.