the strange mail room

A tentative start after 'the bird'. I forgot which object/event made me jump at the idea. Oh yeah, well, anyway. It's about my forever changing address. My winter/fall academic report was mailed back home. I was kinda pissed for a while. I thought they'd mail it to my summer residence but instead they used my home address and as a result, my parents were the first to look at it. Whatever happens to my privacy!!! Then I thought there's so much inconvenience and 'sorrow' for someone forever on the move. It would be nice to have a safe address where you can always go back to retrieve your mails, no worries about the safety or its permanence.

The skeleton
There was a mysterious person who went with the name 'Raymond King' (change the name if you want, I suck at naming). Age? Not sure. Nobody knows. He looked like in his late 20s or early 30s. He lived in a big mansion in which there was the strange mail room. There were 77 pigeon holes each clearly numbered. The incoming letters were all addressed to him, with the same address '1 moonriver lane, queen's circle'. Each morning, Mr. Raymond King would rountinely go to the mailroom, spent a couple of minutes there making sure the letters were correctly sorted out to their right pigeon hole. And every morning he would sit there on the wooden stage, lost in thought, as if waiting for someone. He thinks he's the dream keeper, guarding the mails as if they're tender dreams that would one day escape.

And some day, not sure when because you never know when, some strangers would come and open the pigeon hole with their key, retrieve their mails and go away. Most would smile and say 'hi' if they bump into Mr. King. They exchange v few words.

It was a small business. People who for various reasons were in need of a permanent and secretive mailing address, could request a mailbox through Mr. King. The key was mailed to them so they could come and check their mails anytime they want.

That's the main storyline which doesn't even sound like a story for now. I'm sure you can do sth about it hahaha!


Here're figments of ideas. Let's flesh out the story. Hmm, is first person narration alrite? If not, change it anyway you want.



The Strange Mail Room (title pending...)

It was a rainy Saturday morning.

I quickly brushed off the raindrops on my watch and stared hard. It was too dark. I leaned a bit forward to retrieve some natural light, only to discover half my body was now out of the shed and the raging rain threatened to throw me off my bike.

The watch was fogging up from inside, making the rhythmic movement of the second hand a blurry ghost on patrol. The clockwork would soon rust. I stroked hard at the glass panel, cursing bitterly under my breath why my only luck ran out on the first day of this new job.

'Get the mails and finish the delivery by noon.' The officer said and there I went off in a flash of second, my heart welling up with the excitement of a nine year old boy embarking on his first adventure. Well, there I lied. I would soon be twenty by summer's end. But I was excited nonetheless, until someone poured two buckets of ink into the sky and the storm ensued. It must have been five buckets of ink, or his rage. The rain drops felt hot on the cheek. Maybe it was summer?

About five more minutes to Moonriver Lane, my next destination. I did a head calculation and tapped my foot impatiently at the pavement. Snatching up a handful of letters, I studied the address as I prayed for the rain to cease. It bothered me. Honestly speaking the minute I retrieved those letters from the big deposit box, I had an eccentric feeling hanging at the back of my mind.

To Mr. Raymond King
1 Moonriver Lane
Queen's Circle
154266

Mesmerizd, I flipped to another letter below. It had already been sorted out. I did a quick count with my fingers and there lay 10 letters, with exactly the same address. Wait! I was almost fooled! There below 'King' was carefully subscripted a numerical, almost too small to be discerned. Something screamed at me 'this's no simple case'! I could hardly control my boiling excitement at the new discovery that my hands shook a little. Three letters subscripted '9', and the rest with different numericals ranging from 3 to 67. It couldn't be there were 67 Raymond Kings!

TO BE C'TD (BY JADY)
off judy went...