Mrs. Postman

Chapter 1

We all walk on the ground with a hole in our hearts for different reasons.

But, mine sprouted without remembering how and why.

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Two years ago, I woke up seeing my parents' first. They said, I had an accident, and it was fatal, and that it was a miracle for me to even survive, now, I live with them, helping me, until I can stand on my own. But even with the familiar childhood and the scents of my favorite pie, nothing eased the hollowness I felt.

"Honey! You have to eat breakfast before you get to work!" My mother called loudly that even my neighbors can hear. I ran downstairs on my uniform.

Working as a letter carrier for two years now, seemed too fast, I can't even recollect the faces of the people that I've given letters. What I know is the expression they had when they received the letters: smitten and contented, and I despised them for it. I envied happiness.

Finishing my breakfast, I went out and arrived at the post office early. Timed in and went to the area where they separate mail depending on routes. I took mine and went out.

The last letter I am delivering for today is designated on a small neighborhood, it looked peaceful, dainty, and fresh. "How come I haven't visited here?" thought sprang uncomfortably.

Looking at the name of the receiver, "Mrs. Postman" weirdly resonates deep. "Related? So far, I don't know anyone in this neighborhood, maybe we just have the same surnames," As I logically, reason myself out while walking.

As I approach the address through the brick sidewalks. I can see from a distance. A woman on the front porch, sitting on her armchair with her eyes closed, resting solemnly: her charcoal hair sways gracefully through the air, and beside her is a small table with freshly cooked apple cinnamon pie and a tea, I was captivated.

Arriving at the front of the picket fence, no mailbox to put the letters on. As much as I don't want to disturb this beautiful lady, but I had to, I knocked the fence softly with the stone I just picked up at the corner. This woke her up.

"Excuse me, ma'am? You don't have a mailbox. and I don't know where to put this," Waving the letter over my head,

"Oh, I'm sorry I've been waiting for that mail today, good thing it arrived early. Come in, come in," She enthusiastically spoke while being flustered,

As I handed her the letter, our fingers subtly touched, and I felt an electric surging through my body. "This is certainly just friction," persuading myself as my brain going overdrive.

"Why don't you sit? I was waiting for my visitor too, that's why I'm here, but it seems that — that person won't be coming,"

"Uh, Thank you. I hope you don't mind me saying this, but that person is rude for making you wait like this," as I sit on the chair she offered me.

She giggled at my comment, and it got me heartstruck, it was alarmingly charming as it was paired with two dimples.

"That rude person is my sister, and I don't mind you saying that. She is just naturally brash," as she softly smiled familiarly to me. I find it strangely comfortable as if I had met her before.

Our cordial conversation together ended half-heartedly, as I noticed the sun setting. "I have to go, I have to time-out at the post office. I am still a letter carrier after all," and she responded with a melancholic smile. Perhaps, it's just me and was influenced by her radiance that I find that smile awfully rueful.

"Send my letter again tomorrow, my sister regularly send me letters,"

"Yes, I will. I am looking forward to eating your cinnamon pies too!" As I waved good-bye to her.

My night had ended with satisfaction and drifted off to dreamless sleep.