Lost for Words

Little Lost Rabbit

Sss-thunk! Sss-thunk!

This was the constant background noise in the mailroom. Over a hundred pneumatic tubes began and ended here, connected to various parts of the great building. They ran through the walls and flors, carrying message cylinders back and forth on waves of pressure.

When Almyra had started working here, she had been deafened and confused by the constant hissing and rattling. But she was young and adaptable, and had soon become accustomed to the racket. Now, a seasoned veteran of the mailroom, she could grab a newly arrived cylinder, read the destination address, then shove it into the right pneumatic tube and send it on its way. All without pausing to think. However, there were times when the routine was broken.

Sss-thunk! A capsule landed in the basket beneath one of the incoming tubes. Almyra rushed to grab it and send it on its way. And then she stopped. Where there should have been a label giving the address of the person the message was intended for, there was just a blank space. Almyra turned the cylinder over, searching for clue as to where to send it. Then she paused. "If in doubt," she thought.

Almyra waved to attract the attention of her supervisor, Miss Brand.

"What is it?" Miss Brand mee-mawed back. The exaggerated lip movements and expressions were the most reliable means of communication in the mechanical clamour of the mailroom.

"This." Almyra showed her supervisor the offending cylinder. "What do I do with it?"

Miss Brand gestured towards a trolley - a wire basket on wheels. "In there."

"Then what?"

"Tell you later," Miss Brand replied. "Back to work."

Almyra did as she was told, then got back to work. In the short time it had taken to deal with the rogue message, a dozen more cylinders had arrived in the mailroom. Almyra was so engaged in the routine of her job that she soon forgot about the incident. At least until Miss Brand reminded her. "Take the trolley to Disposals. Tell them you have a lost rabbit. They'll know what to do."

"Yes, Miss Brand."

"And whatever you do, don't read the message."

"Yes, Miss Brand."

Almyra wheeled the trolley through the silent corridors of the building to the disposal room. She had not even considered opening the cylinder to read the message inside. But, now that Miss Brand had planted that seed in her mind, Almyra's latent curiosity grew into temptation. Almyra wheeled the trolley into a nearby side corridor and found a secluded supplies cubbyhole. Once she was sure that nobody would observe her infraction of the rules, she fumbled the cylinder open and extracted a rolled-up sheet of paper from within.

Then, Almyra took a deep breath and read.