The Letter: Fiction

Finally, touched for a moment, then released, then touched again, the letter was withdrawn and placed in its very own slot. Quivering, the letter knew the time had come. With pride, it straightened its edges. Then, the heavy grip pushed it through a tight opening. A squeeze, and then faaalllliiinnnnggggg. Thwap!

The letter arrived safely at its important destination and was ready for the reader to open it.

Once upon a time there was a letter. A very important letter which had to travel very far to its destination. Sealed carefully, this letter was hurriedly walked to L’ ufficio postale; and if you know the Italians, they rarely hurry, so this one was really important. Briefly, the carrier contemplated which slot was best for the letter (Espressi-Posta aerea o Stampe) but swiftly placed it in the Espressi-Post with confidence that it would arrive soon to the destination.

Sliding down the chute of L’ ufficio postale, the letter knew it was bound for great adventures. The letter sliced left and then slid right through the inner walls until it landed with a gentle thwat upon other very important and heartfelt letters.

After a while, the letter was unceremoniously dumped into a bag. A much too tight bag! Uncomfortable, but not afraid, the letter had very important business to attend to and it had good company here as the grand adventure began.

With the rumble of an engine and grinding of gears the letter felt the pressure of all the other bags of letters as the motorcar began to jostle and jerk on the Cobblestone streets. While in town, frequent stops were made by the motorcar. With each of those stops, a small batch of these letters and cards were picked up and carried away.

Before long, an important stop came for the motorcar and the engine was cut. With the scent of ocean air, a hush settled in the bags. Soon they heard the deep rumbles of a turbine engine on the water, followed by a whump against a building. Then they heard a mix of gentle waves splash against the hull of a boat as squeaky windows opened and closed. With surprise and a human grunt, another bag was added to the motorcar.

Rumble, grind, jostle, jerk. The motorcar stopped and started each time. Relief came as bag after bag was emptied and folded. The letter gave a little wiggle with each newly gained bit of space. The important destination was close. Enthusiasm was growing.

And then… it stopped! The engine was cut. It was then that eagerness turned to elation as the small bag packed with the letter was removed from the motorcar. Fwoosh came the cold gust in contrast to the motorcar warmth. Gradually, the bag of important, and not so important, letters shouldered into position. Waiting with bated breath, the letter understood that the journey was nearly finished.

One by one the cards and letters began disappearing from the bag as they found their destination. Through a very tiny slit, the letter could see the amazing places that the other letters went. A terre cotta Posta, a marble mailbox, a historical marker mailbox, the red mailbox overlooking Val d'Orcia, and a box with pretty flowers. Though the letter wondered what it would be like to visit those destinations, important business was the focus.

The Venice Post Office

where mail is collected by boat.