Mailboy (Wattys 2015 Winner)

2. Extraordinary.

“Animals don't hate, and we're supposed to be better than them.” -Elvis Presley

July 8th, 2013- Nico Forrest

 "FORREST, this is the fifth time you come to my office this week," sighed Julie Sanders, the 40 year old policewoman, pacing around.

"And yet every time I come in here, it's even filthier. I mean, what the hell? You just have to get a mop and clean at least a layer of the dirt in here," I said, sliding my finger on the desk, shaking my head at the sight of the accumulation of dust in my finger. I rubbed it off, and enjoyed the frustrated expression Sanders had been giving me. I put my legs on the chair opposing to me.

"Listen here boy, I could throw you in prison at this moment just because of your behaviour. And, you vandalized several parts of this town, and punched Ryder, my own son, for catching you and threatening to call the police." Her tone had been stern, and her eyes were cutting through me like daggers. I knew that she especially hated the fact that I'd hit her idiotic son.

"First of all, you call this a town? My dear Julie, where I lived, your precious Silvercrest is a pathetic excuse of a town; scrapes of what you could call an actual town-" I paused, resisting the urge to laugh at the policewoman's red face. You see, she was a redhead, so you could understand my point of view. She literally looked like a tomato.

"Don't-Julie-idiot-town-smug-bastard," She muttered under her breath, through clenched teeth.

"-second, your son may be my age, but he's a coward. He could've hit me back, and defended himself instead of staying on the floor, holding his nose."

"That's because you broke it!" She exclaimed, now fuming. 

"Calm down, Julie. You know stress isn't good for...you know, elderly women," I finished off with a wink. Her eyebrows rose, and she looked like she was about to punch something. 

"I AM NOT OLD! I'll let you know, I'm under fourt-fifty." 

That's when my dear father entered the room, a huge grimace present on his face. Our gaze met, and he shook his head. Rolling my eyes, I watched as James Forrest and the police woman were talking in not-so hushed voices.

"What did he do this time?" He asked, folding his arms, a habit he would do when stressed. 

"He sprayed paint on Mr. Santiago's lawn, and wrote Vete a la mierda!. The Santiago family is Spanish. So imagine at one point they were insulted?"

"Yes, and I apologize. I will pay for all damages, and I'm praying that you'd let him off with a notice this time too, love?" He finished off with a questioning glance, as I knew he let the "love" part slide in just to soften her heart. I snorted, and he gave me a quick glare; shut-the-fuck-up-you're-in-trouble.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Forrest. I've been extremely kind with him, only because he's new in town. Two small acts of vandalism and three of smoking in a gas station or trespassing  in different parts of town is just not acceptable. I'm afraid he will have to spend the night in a cell, just to learn a lesson. Because, so far, he has not been a very ideal citizen to Silvercrest." She said in a stern tone, although a slight blush crept her cheeks at the way my own father was looking a her.

 "Call me James. And, please, Julie, I'm begging you. Is there anything he could do to learn his lesson, but not by spending time in jail? He's my only son, and I really want him to adjust here. You know how hard it is, we just moved here."