The mailman.

Ok. I know this post might look really big, but don't be deceived, it is. This is one of the short, short stories I wrote during the month of November. I've finally got it edited to some degree. Whoa, and I just noticed that it doesn't have tabs at the beginning of new paragraphs. I don't know, there might be tabs when I post it. Wow, this is suspenseful. I guess I'll give it a shot and if it doesn't work I won't do anything about it.
The spiritual point at the end is slightly...um...yeah. So if you think of a better message feel free to do what you think best. God bless you all!
[I also just noticed that when I did copy and paste it didn't put any of the italics in. So you can feel free to liberally apply italics wherever you think it looks best. [I just looked over it some more and noticed that I really need the italics, so I'm going to put it in.]]


A businessman walked past a newsstand. The owner, chatting with his friend, didn’t notice as the businessman reached down and hastily picked up a paper. The businessman quickly strode to his car and opened up his door. As he tried to lift his briefcase onto the passenger seat the inside section of the stolen newspaper slipped out onto the ground. Pulling out into the street and joining the traffic the businessman’s thieved newspaper section lay forgotten on the ground.
An hour later, a red car swerved to miss a j-walker, rolled across the newspaper, whipping it into the air. The sheets of paper sprayed into the traffic and were swept by the wind like a child swung by their arms in circles. Several sheets were carried by the wind towards the far sidewalk where a bum searched through the garbage can. He snatched a few pieces placing them flat under his shirt for warmth. The rest of the papers still continued to move from time to time with the wind. One flew upon the windshield of an elderly driver, scaring her. A young mailman picked up yet another, and was about to stuff it in a trashcan, when he saw the heading. It was an interesting title so he unknowingly stuffed the stolen newspaper into his pocket and moved on. His next destination was a poorer ghetto type area with many boxes.
A large tenement house with several addresses was his first stop. The urban air echoed with noise. A dog barked. A baby cried. The mailman packed his bag as two kids rode by on their bikes. After swinging his bag onto his shoulder he marched up the steps to building 450. He swung open the door and crossed over to the mailboxes. They were arraigned as a flat metal panel with locked partitions. After setting down his mail bag he took the keys from his side and opened all eight boxes. He started putting mail in as a man with a dirty white tee shirt opened up the outside door and approached him. The mailman watched him from the corner of his eye but tried to ignore the greasy man standing beside the mailbag. The mailman uneasily continued putting the mail in their respective boxes. He was about to place the mail into box 8 when the heavy man behind him spoke in a strong voice, “Give it to me.”
The mailman paused, “I’m actually supposed to put it the box.” He looked up calmly, “If you got your key…”
“Just give it to me. I don’t have time for this.” The large man took a menacing step forward.
“I’m sorry sir, but I’m not allowed to give the mail out of this box unless you’ve got the key.” The mailman stood up holding the mail for number 8, when suddenly the sweaty man grabbed him and swung him around.
“Give it to me, I said.” He shouted in the mailman’s face. “I don’t care about no key.” With a quick thrust the man grabbed the small can of pepper spray from the case on the surprised mailman’s belt and held it threateningly in front of the mailman’s face. “I know your little tricks.”
The alarmed mailman quickly thrust the mail from number 8, “Ok! Ok!” He said sourly. The large man grabbed it and shoved the mailman onto the floor, and then stormed out of the building. The stunned mailman lay there for a second then stood up. I've got to call this in. He ran to the door and looked through the small window to tell if he could see the offender. Not seeing him, the mailman quickly grabbed his cell phone and proceeded to call the local post office.
“Hey Susie, this is Paul.” He said, still shaken, “Give me Bart would you please? I just had someone threaten me and take my mail.”
“Oh Paul! Are you all right? Did they take all of it?” Susie questioned with panic.
“No, just one person’s. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? Did they hurt you?”
“I’m fine. Is Bart there?”
“Yes, but honey, this is so scary. I never knew this job would be dangerous.”
“It’s all over. I’m fine. Can you transfer me?”
Susie was still wound up, “Oh fine.”
“Thank you.” Paul waited a few seconds.
Bart answered, “You got your mail robbed Paul? Susie thinks you’re hurt.”
“I’m fine, really. A guy came in the door of the apartment building and forced me to give him the mail for number eight. I’m at 450 Ryan St.” Paul wiped the sweat off his forehead.
“Do you want me to report it to the police?” Bart asked him.
“I don’t know. It’d be a lot of trouble and I doubt they’d be able to do anything. They’ve got better stuff to do.”
Bart sighed, “Well, be careful. I guess there’s not much else we can do about it. You want your wife back on the line?”
“Sure.” Paul waited on the line again.
Susy came back on, “Paul? Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
“I’m fine honey. Don’t worry.”
“Are you going to take the rest of the day off?”
Paul rolled his eyes, “Susy, I’m fine. Besides, you know how much I need to work. We really need the money. That’s the only reason we’ve got you working in the post office.”
“Ok, Paul. But be really, really careful.”
“I’ll try, sweetie. Bye.”
“Bye.” She said. Paul closed his cell phone and put it in his pocket. Let her not be too worried, God. He grabbed a pen from his pocket and tore off a piece of the newspaper page he’d grabbed earlier off the street. He wrote, “Sorry, someone stole the mail from me. – Your mailman.” On the shred of newspaper and dropped it in the mailbox. After locking each of the mailboxes he lugged his bag of mail back to the door. By now his senses had calmed, but he still took a careful look before he stepped outside. Walking down the small pathway he noticed his bag had been disheveled by the action. The guy’s foot must have kicked it. He stopped on the sidewalk next to the road and leaned over straightening the mail. I sure don’t like it when it jumbles up. He tried to sort out the addresses, but it was messed up more than he expected, so finally he squatted down and sorted through the papers. Paul always like everything in order, it made the job run smoother.
Suddenly, from behind, he heard a loud screeching. A car was coming straight at him! He screamed. With barely time to think, he dived flat on his stomach. The car’s tire barely missed him as the car scraped to a halt grounding out on the curb. The driver’s door immediately swung open, “Are you all right?” the woman driver yelled. He tried to move, but the car had rolled onto his jacket, barely missing his arm. A woman’s head popped into view below the bumper shrieking, “I am so sorry! Are you hurt?”
“I think I’m fine.” Paul grunted.
“I am so, so sorry! I must have dozed off, I looked up and I was driving straight at you!”
Paul struggled out of his loose jacket and started to crawl out from under the car, “You barely missed me.”
“I am so sorry.”
Paul got out and lifted himself up on the bumper as the lady tried to help him up, “I’m Ok. Don’t worry about it. Your wheel just rolled over my jacket so I couldn’t move. That’s all.” He sat on the hood of the car and caught his breath. “Whew. That was a close one.”
The middle-aged woman crossed her arms nervously, “I feel really bad. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yeah, accidents happen. I’m truly fine.” He said, “Oh, but do you think you could back up a bit?” He stood up looking around at the driver’s wheel, “My jacket’s still under the wheel.”
“Of course! I am so, so sorry.” She worriedly waved both her hands and ran to the vehicle.
“Hey, no problem. You can just go wherever you were going and I’ll pick it up. No need to cry over spilt milk. Really, its all right.” After she moved he picked up his jacket and dusted it off. Paul gave a big sigh and slowly wiped his face.
“Again, I’m so sorry for that.” She called out her window. He waved and then turned around so the lady would know she didn’t need to stay. I am definitely not telling my wife about this. Susie has enough to worry about already.
He picked up his mailbag and went to the next house. The mailboxes were next to the doors on this street so he had to walk up to the front door of each house. The bushes of this house were in needed trimming, but at least the lawn was mowed. Paul stepped onto the gray concrete porch and was about to put the mail in the box when, Bang! The dog slammed against the closed screen door barking ferociously. Paul dropped the mail and jumped back. The owner yelled at the dog, “Rex! Stop barking! Rex! Rex! Get back here.” The dog continued to bark. Upon noticing the door was securely closed Paul cautiously picked up the mail and placed it in the box. He heard the owner still yelling to the dog as he walked towards the sidewalk. Paul cringed as he heard the man coming and hauling the dog back shutting the wooden door.
Paul stopped for a second on the sidewalk. What in the world is happening? First a man robs my mail; second a lady accidentally barely misses running me over, and then this vicious dog. It’s crazy. He readjusted his shoulder strap and crossed the street to the next house. It was a double story building with a separate apartment rented out on the second floor. An old wooden stairs led up to the upper living quarters along the side of the lower story. He walked up to the front door: it had a small wooden sign saying “Judsen’s”. Mounted to the wall was a mailbox that he put the envelopes inside. The second mailbox was at the top of the stairs. Even though Paul had had the mail delivery job for over two weeks he still was hesitant of the wooden stairs. They always looked like they weren't too strong. Paul gingerly held onto the handrail and walked up. Reaching out to put the mail in the box he gave a sigh; they didn't break, this time. It happened. With a loud cracking, the step gave way! Paul madly reached out and held onto the step above him as he fell through. Suspended several feet from the ground he frantically grasped for the higher step. With his legs waving his hands slipped. His back scraped on the board behind him as he hit the ground and lost his balance. The sharp gravel pressed his hands. He lay there for a second. This can’t be happening. Paul took a big breath. Could things get worse? He pushed himself up and picked up his bag. I’ve got to finish my work and go home. Quickly. Paul snatched the proper mail of the ground and threw it on the broken stair. They had better understand. I’m not going to write another note of apology today.
He hurried off to their neighbor. Toys lay scattered around the yard. The normal urban house had a covered porch with a low wall around it. The bricks in the pillars were coming loose. It looked like someone had recently tried to repair the cracks with some caulk, but it was falling off. Paul looked at the dilapidated brick arch above the stairs, it had duct tape and boards strapped to it. Paul tentatively walked up the stair looking at the loose bricks above him. Wouldn’t it fit the day if one of those fell on me? Enough has happened already. He cautiously snuck past the arch still staring straight up. A skateboard lay on the top step, Paul, still looking above, didn’t see it. He stumbled, reaching out for the pillar, but the brick he grabbed on to came out of its place. Paul and the brick landed with a loud thud on the porch. Don’t let the whole thing fall! He thought wildly, squirming around to look up. Nothing moved. Paul let out his breath. A voice came from the front door, “Are you all right? Hey! I just fixed that brick.” Paul looked up to see a burly man with a large stomach staring down at him.
“I’m sorry. But I tripped on the skateboard someone left there.”
“Must have been one of the kids.” The man kicked a stuffed toy aside, “ They leave their toys everywhere. Can’t get them to pick up nothing. Spoiled kids.”
Paul got off the ground and onto his feet for the fourth time that day, “Tell them I didn’t appreciate it.” He said.
“Tell their mom.” The man commented, “She’s the one who spoils them rotten. If I ever try to get them to do something, ‘Oh no! Don’t kill my babies!’” the large man imitated moving his body around.
Giving the man his brick, Paul broodingly stepped off the porch. What is happening? He walked to the next house. How could this all be happening to me on the same day? I’ve never fallen or tripped this many times. Did I get cursed? I’m going to have to be really careful, like Susie said.
He hesitantly went from house to house putting mail in the boxes. Along with the usual mailman problems of mixing up letters, dropping envelopes, and wrinkling magazines Paul was besieged with hardships. A crazy squirrel ran straight at him and nearly bit him; of which Paul barely kicked it out of the way. An irritated woman who had been sleeping on her front porch got angry when Paul woke her from her nap. He then accidentally kicked over her flowerpot, but gave five dollars to the woman to pay for the broken pot. A low hanging tree branch hit his head. His noisy cell phone rang with a wrong number right as he was trying to be quiet near a resting baby; the little girl immediately screamed with fright. Along with stepping in numerous piles of dog waste and wet puddles, Paul had quickly become disgusted with his day.
Paul needed to fill up his mailbag again and since it was lunchtime he decided to eat the sack lunch his wife had packed him. He was about to open up the back door to put his mailbag back when he saw a big dent above the bumper. Aw man. He felt with his hand along the long deep scrape in the paint. How’d this happen? He then remembered the car that had nearly killing him. The lady’s door must have swung open and hit it. Won’t the postal company be happy about that. Paul feebly rubbed his head trying to think of what to do. Oh well. That’s that. Tough luck. He smiled with satire. Tough curse. He opened up the driver’s door to climb in, but his foot slipped; his shin hit the step.
Paul nursed his throbbing leg for a couple minutes before starting on his sandwich. He turned on the radio. Leaning back, he closed his eyes and took a hefty bite of the chicken breast sandwich. Abruptly he felt something in his throat! A chicken bone had lodged in his throat. He could feel it’s sharp point. He tried to swallow, but couldn’t! He panicked, slamming his chest against the steering wheel (which responded loudly). The bone was coughed out of his throat and he took a large breath. The pain in his throat still hurt, so he gulped down a large bottle of water. A large amount accidentally spilled on his clothes. No! He looked down at his wet lap. And today was the first day that I forgot to bring napkins. “Why is this happening to me?” He broodingly said allowed. He searched around for a napkin without success. He then remembered the newspaper that he’d stuffed in his pocket that morning and tore off the unwanted section of advertising to use as what little it could. This is a really rotten day. What next?
A bullet smacked through the windshield. Paul immediately crouched down as the front window shattered to pieces. This is eternally crazy! Paul screamed inside his head. Another bullet whizzed through the window inches from his head as it hit the dashboard sending a small shower of sparks his way. The two bullets had come from somewhere behind Paul, shooting through the open driver’s window and hitting the front dash and window. I have to get out of here! Paul grabbed his keys and threw it into gear. Keeping his head low he slammed the gas pedal. A loud bang sounded as another bullet blasted into the rear section of the mail truck. He glanced in his mirror. A ways behind him a black car turn onto the street that Paul was on. Paul floored the car and sailed around the corner into a larger street. Many shops were lining the road and he was hoping the antagonist wouldn’t shoot in public. Paul weaved in and out through the cars. Who is shooting at me? What do they want? The stoplight ahead turned red and he slowed down. They’re catching up! Paul swerved the mail truck into the parking lot of a grocery store, veering around shopping carts and their frightened pushers. “Get out of the way!” He shouted breathlessly through his broken windshield. Exiting the parking lot through the other exit he proceeded into moving traffic. He again pushed the gas pedal down, going as fast as he could. Where is the car? He strained to look back in his mirror. The black car was just behind him about to pull onto the road from the grocery store parking lot. Paul didn’t want others getting hurt, so he looked for a side street with fewer people. A small residential street with less traffic was to his right. Perfect! A semi had just pulled between him and the black car and was momentarily blocking the shooter’s view. He was just about to turn onto the side street when he saw an elderly lady pushing a shopping cart across it. No! He didn’t turn. Why’d she have to cross? In the distance he saw another road on the right, but the black car was quickly gaining. What am I going to do?
Unexpectedly, a car pulled out from a store, right in front of Paul! Since the windshield was broken Paul had a very hard time seeing; the wind harshly blew in his eyes. Paul veered into the lane beside him while the other car swiped his rear bumper. The mail truck jerked to the side as it was hit; Paul nearly lost control. Looking back in his mirror, Paul hoped the other driver wasn’t hurt. Spotting his turn, Paul yanked his steering wheel screeching onto the other road. Made it! At the last second he saw the chasing black car also turn onto the road following the destitute Paul’s truck. Paul was still driving fast, trying to think of a way to escape.
All at once his truck started sputtering. It surged forward then slowed down. Oh no! What’s happening? He looked at his gas gauge. It was below empty. I have to get out quick! Paul swerved into an empty driveway and jumped out of the car. He ran into the person’s back yard hopping a chain link fence. Paul stood in a narrow grassy ditch with small fenced in yards on either side. He looked around for a place to hide. With a loud crash he watched in shock as the black car roared up the driveway next door and smashed through the fence into the ditch. Paul ran as fast as he could in the other direction. The black car slammed into reverse and drove straight at him. Oh man! What am I going to do? God if you there, please help! Paul saw a split in the fences. He turned the corner and ran. It was a dead end! No! The fences on either side were too tall to climb over. He ran towards the buildings ahead. The black car was too close behind for him to try to turn around. Paul wildly looked around for somewhere to hide. The black car would be there in seconds. Ah! He ran behind a short evergreen hedge and fell to the ground. The car came to a halt. The engine shut off. God please help! He heard the door open and close. Paul’s heart was pounding violently. The click of the gun sounded sharply in his ears.
“You’re a dead man.” The words echoed around the brick walls of the alley.
Paul cringed. The air stiffened with silence. He waited. What should I do? God help. Please! He heard footsteps. They were coming near.
“Get out.” He heard the bad-tempered voice. What am I going to do? His mind screamed. Paul lay still, unsure if it was a ploy to get him to come out of hiding. The commanding voice said it again. “You, in the bush, get out!” Paul slowly turned his head. A big man stood three yards away. In his hands was a shotgun. Paul silently got up onto his feet. His mind was racing. God if you are out there. I need you now!
“Stand against the wall.” The man continued.
Paul, as if in a daze little by little turned and looked at the brick wall. He stepped towards it. He took another step. Suddenly it struck him. A thought had popped into his mind out of nowhere. The newspaper! He took another step. Why the newspaper? Another step. When did all these problems start? The answer rang through his mind. After I got the newspaper. He’d reached the wall.
“Face me.” The man said threateningly.
Paul slowly started to turn around. Paul acted as slow as he could to have more time to think. I got the newspaper. I was robbed. After I ripped the newspaper for the note, I got run over by a car. I used the newspaper as a napkin and then I got shot at. Paul looked as the man raised the gun. I’ve got to get rid of it! Paul slowly reached into his pocket. Careful. Careful. The man hastely looked down the sights and placed his finger on the trigger. NOW! Paul whipped the scrap of newspaper out of his pocket tossing it away. Everything stopped. The paper twirled in a circular path, swaying gently from side to side. It tenderly touched the ground.
“Oh, never mind.” The man lowered his gun, “I thought you were someone else. You look nearly the same.”
“Please don’t shoot me.”
“I won’t. Just a second ago I thought you were someone else. I just now saw that you weren’t the person who I thought you were.” The man stood awkwardly, “Man, I don’t know what’s a matter with me.” He swung his shotgun onto his shoulder. “Don’t tell anyone about me.” The man abruptly walked back to his car.
Paul waited for his nerves to calm. Thanks God. He watched as the black car drove way. After waiting five more minutes Paul he took one last look at the newspaper and then got to his feet and walked back to the mail truck. He asked the driver of a passing car for some gas and then finished his mail route. That night with his wife, for the first time, Paul gave thanks to God before dinner.
There can be objects in this world that cause us to struggle or bring unwanted consequences. Sometimes we don’t even know why they do it; maybe they have connotations with something bad from the past. But God knows why we are being troubled. God will lead us to the answers. I know it sounds a bit of a stretch to say that a stolen newspaper could bring misfortune. But isn’t everything in the spiritual world a bit of a stretch? That’s why it’s not the “natural” world. The Bible says how when Achan took money and riches that God forbade it brought great curses upon Israel. There have been people who have had terrible problems in their lives, their problems have continued until the individual gets rid of certain objects (objects from past wrong relationships, statues of tribal gods, etc.) Even if we take the illustration out of the supernatural there’s a point; because there are often things that somehow relate to sin: a book, a magazine, maybe a movie. Allowing those objects in our possession can affect us. They very possibly can open a door to the enemy. Be careful and listen to God. Ask him, like Paul did, what He wants you to do. Maybe, if you ask Him, he’ll tell you something you either need to add to or take away from your life. In fact I’d be pretty sure there’s something he wants different in your life. In my life.
Ask Him!

The End.