Special Delivery

The mail delivery service was an honorable job. You were responsible for keeping hundreds of people connected by conveying their letters and packages. What a gratifying feeling it was to see the look of joy and appreciation on your recipients' faces when you delivered their mail. You were proud to call yourself a Parcel Mistress of Prospit.

But lately, the items you've carried have become more somber rather than uplifting. As the war with the Dersites raged on Skia below, you've had to deliver more last wills, final requests, certificates of death, and letters farewell and apology to the families of fallen Prospitians. No longer did people look upon your arrival with pleasant anticipation. Instead they just eyed you with grief. It was becoming too much to bear for you. How desperately you wished to bring something good back into these people's lives, something to heal all their pain.

You started your Monday like any other; checking in to the postal center and getting the barcode on your wrist scanned to receive your day's quota.

bbzzzzzz-ding!

The red lasers hastily identify you and chuck out your mail in a slot below. Taking it up in both hands, you begin to read their addresses as you slip them into your satchel. Sigh… it's the same-old, same-old. Bills, magazines, junk mail-

You come to a halt when you uncover a small box hidden amongst the envelopes. The return address is that of the Prospit Crematory. These were ashes of a fallen Prospitian.

You had heard rumors of other postal workers delivering these rare packages and how insufferable it was to watch the family receive them. They hardly ever came, for the fallen soldiers on Skia almost never found their way back home. It was hard enough seeing the carapaces' faces when they received a certificate of death or a Medal of Honor for their deceased loved ones. It was even harder still for those few and in between families to have the body of their family members returned to them, horrendously mutilated and crushed from a violent end. You couldn't imagine how hard it would be for this family, who would have to remember their loss for a third time.

You decide to consult your supervisor before you go out on your route, and explain to him how hard it is for you to deliver unpleasant mail. It emotionally taxed you and you tell him you don't know if you would be able to handle a mission as serious as the one you were given. He empathetically listens to your concerns and understands your position. It was never easy being the bearer of bad news, especially when it was something as grave as this, but he still believed in you and told you that you could do it.

"When the wife answers the door, tell her you are sorry for her loss and she has your condolences," he instructs you. "Then break the interaction off swift and clean. That's all you need to do."

You nod halfheartedly and reluctantly get underway. You decide to push the address of the ashes to the end of your route and take the time to practice your answer as you deliver everything that comes before. But your stock of mail inevitably runs out and you can put it off no longer. It had to be done. The mail must be delivered.

On the porch step, you take a deep breath and swallow a lump in your throat. You seriously contemplate resigning from your job if this doesn't go well.

"Special delivery," You say loudly as you knock on the door. You're careful to keep your tone even and emotionless. Your heart is pounding and you can feel sweat run down your neck as you wait for the door to be opened.

The lock clicks, and the door swings open. "I'm sorry for your-" you automatically begin before you realize no one's there.

You look down. A young child, hanging on the door knob and studying you with big innocent eyes has answered you. You go mute. You weren't prepared for a child.

The child looks at you then catches sight of the box. He sharply inhales, knowing what it meant. Thoughts of panic begin to race through your brain. What should you do if this child broke down and started crying? Should you try to comfort him? Console him? Or deliver the package and get back to work? Meanwhile, your body did nothing, completely frozen to the spot.

Suddenly the small child turns and runs yelling back into the house. Oh no.

"Mommy! Mommy come quick!" he shouts as he fetches his mother then comes back to the door. When you see him again, you're perplexed to find he's not distressed or upset at all. In fact, he's beaming at you with the biggest smile you've ever seen. "Look, Mommy! The nice postal lady brought Daddy home!"

The woman smiles sadly at you and gently takes the box from your hand. "Thank you," she whispers, trying to hold back her tears, then looks to her son. "Now we're a complete family once more."

You nod, too chocked up to say anything then hastily get on your way. Once you're a good distance away from the houses you let you let your emotions flow freely. For so long now you had been a bearer of bad news, having to watch as families learned they were shattered because of the combat. After so long of giving nothing but grief you thought there was there was no hope left is this endless conflict, no more gratifying rewards of this job.

And yet… the look of pure happiness on that child's face hit you in a way like never before... The other mail carriers were right; delivering ashes was unendurable, but for completely different reasons than you had suspected. Sure there would be plenty more tragic news in the future and delivering it would never get easier. But after today, you decided the path of a Parcel Mistress was still worth it. Especially, when in the midst of a war torn world, you could deliver closure and mend those broken people into families again.