Notes from the End of the World

The cart

Everybody was waiting for him already.

"Are you leaving?" They asked.

"I have to," the Postman said.

"We have a gift for you," one of the women said, and she signalled to some kids, that quickly came closer dragging a shopping cart filled with folders, books and papers.

"What is that?" He asked.

"That's our stories. Please take them and preserve our memories. At least we'll be sure that it rests in good hands."

"I'm honoured," the Postman said, getting one of the documents and browsing it. "I'll take good care of it." He raised his eyes and spotted Marien at her apartment window. He couldn't be certain from that distance, but she seemed to be crying. "Someday, I'll be back. I hope I can have good news to bring to you."

Then he pushed the cart down the street, while the women and children waived goodbye to him.

The Postman might have walked half a mile out the city limits, so he sat on the hood of the rusty, abandoned car and grabbed a pile of folders from the cart.

"Let's see what we've got here," he groaned to himself.

There were hundreds of letters and notes, from diaries to shopping lists, from love stories to official records.

I can't take all of this with me, he thought. I still have a long way to go. I'll camp here and check what is relevant or not. I wouldn't be surprised if there is nothing of interest in here.

"Rubbish, rubbish, rubbish," the Postman threw one piece of paper after the other in the fire he just lit. However, after three hours performing this task, he put his hands on a notebook. On its cover could be read "Gretel's life".

First, I've been through hell; later, I brought hell to others.

That was the first paragraph.

"There you have it!" The Postman yelled. "This seems to be good."