No Future in Being a Postman

 

On that particular morning, feeling out of sorts again, an email arrived that was an update on a recent order I had placed:

 

Your future is on its way, and can no longer be changed.

Arriving:

Friday, February 7

 

So, that was it. There was no going back. Returns were not accepted, or refunds offered. Having no idea what lay ahead, discovering I could order a future online seemed irresistible. It was a massive gamble; there were no guarantees as to what may lay in store, but I’d reached a point where I didn’t care.

 

When Friday the 7th came and went, and my future had failed to materialise, I became anxious. By the 12th I was fearing the worst. On the 14th I realised I had no future.

 

My inquiries revealed that it had been posted, but was either lost or stolen. The latter possibility rang several alarm bells, because various orders had failed to arrive previously and I had become very suspicious about my postman. The problem was that I couldn’t confront him because I lacked proof. But during the next few days I became convinced he was the culprit. I was certain it was the postman who had my whole future ahead of him and not me.

 

Two empty weeks later, I noticed it was a different postman heading for the house. I wouldn’t normally open the door to chat, but this time I did because I wanted to ask where the usual man was.

 

 ‘He died last night. Had a heart attack just as he was about to go home.’

 

He thrust the mail into my hand. Walking back upstairs, I noticed I no longer felt breathless as I often had lately; instead I had a spring in my step and an unusual sense of optimism.

 

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*Someone needs to tell the man on the right in the photograph that mobile phones haven't been invented yet.