Mid October Rain

We are made of Little Things

There are Letters at the Desk, and the room is messy. He sits in the kitchen, making some coffee while switching on the Television. It is a cold rainy Sunday afternoon in Mid October.

Around 9 am, Someone, Knocks the Front Door. He wonders who might it be. Since he moved into his new apartment in this new town, No one knows his address. He hesitates and hopes only thought that someone is knocking for a moment.

"Is anyone home? Please Open the Door; You have a Letter." A man yells from outside.

Another Letter, but I didn't tell anyone I was moving here. After another moment of Hesitation finally, he gets up, puts on his slippers and lazily walks to the front door. A man in his mid 30's is standing there. He has a thin beard with eyes that look like he hasn't been sleeping for days.

"Here, Please sign this." The mailman says grumpily.

He sighs the document, and the mailman hands him the letters. The mailman puts his hand in his left pocket and pulls out a packet of cigarettes.

"Sometimes, I don't understand why I am doing this?" He says as he tries to light up the Cigarette with his match stick.

"I mean, I go from house to house handing people early in the morning. People make me wait. Sometimes they aren't home. The money isn't that good, you know. I can make more flipping burgers than doing this." The mailman lets the smoke out and enjoys every bit of it.

"I think the reason I haven't quit this job is that somehow I do enjoy it in my little way. I go from house to house handing people letters. Most of them take the letters and head back inside. Sometimes they tear it open right in front of me. If I am lucky, I get to see the expression on their faces. It never fails to amuse me. I love that expression they give." The mailman says with a smile.

"I like my little role. Being a person who gives people their mails and then changes their life. I want to say it makes me feel like a god. Handing people a piece of paper that sometimes changes the way they feel and affects all the decisions they make in their lives." The mailman looks at the sky as he says this.

The Rain has almost stopped, but it still wrinkles. "I know you must be thinking this guy is nuts, but hey, that's how I am. I take pleasure in the little things I do. After all, it's the little things that matter. Think about it, how your life changes with every little step you decide on." The Cigarette is almost out, he throws about the Cigarette butt, and The mailman puts his hands in his pockets and slowly walks away.

He slowly walks back inside. Looking at the letters. It's been a month since no one has sent him any letters. The truth was he never liked the idea of writing letters. He rather telephones once in a while. Otherwise, he is not in touch. He didn't want to know what was going on. It was a burden to him.

He sits down on his sofa, looking at all the old letters on his Desk. He wanted to open this letter, but at the same time, he didn't. He didn't know what to do. Since he was little, he's always been indecisive; now, he's still the same at the age of 28.

The Telephone starts to ring. It keeps ringing. He wants to get up and receive it but is too afraid to know who might be at the other end. The Telephone Keeps ringing.

I write about things I have learned here on medium. Please follow me if you enjoy my work and I will follow you back. If you want to share your writings with me, drop me a comment, and I will make sure to read your work as well. : ) Thank you for dropping by.

Here are my other works:

Bars and Melodies — Micro fiction story

How Running Everyday Cured my Anxiety

5 Best Books For Beginner Readers In Their 20s

5 ways to stop feeling like crap and improve your life in your 20s