The Person From The Future

A letter

Soft thuds against my window were what woke me up from my restless sleep. They were irregular. Some harder than others, some not even against my window. They resembled the pounding in my head, but lighter, and not as oppressive. I glanced at the clock, Saturday, the twenty fifth of July, 6.47 am. What would make such thuds against my window at 6.47 am?

With furrowed brows and a huff, I shove the sheets off of me. It took more time than usual to walk over to the windowsill. My feet felt heavier and the distance seemed longer. I must have looked even worse than I felt when I opened the curtains. The bright light had made me squeeze my eyes shut and turn away. Only when I had raised my hand to keep the sun out of my eyes, I dared to turn back and look outside.

They stood there in the middle of an empty road, a small smile playing on their lips as they rose their shoulders in innocence, dropping the pebbles they held to the ground. Now I at least knew the cause of the thuds. The red bicycle stood discarded against the streetlight and the brown mailbag was dropped next to their feet.

It felt as if the muscles in my arms didn't feel like cooperating when I went to open my window. And when I had, the urge to immediately shut it again was immense. The talking neighbors, barking dogs and ringing bicycle bells made my face contort. Too loud, too much, it hurt. the sound drumming in my ears harder than it should have.

"I just wanted to say you have a letter."

My face relaxed somewhat as I peeked down. They were digging through the bag, eventually holding up a small white envelope. I wanted to say something, say that I never got letters, that the letter was probably addressed wrongly, when the letterbox in our front door rattled.

They'd already delivered my mail.

They walked back in sight a couple seconds later, picking their bicycle up from where they'd put it and they waved.

I waved too, forgetting I was shielding my eyes from the sunlight and groaning when I got blinded once more. Curling inwards, I dropped to a squat, rubbing my temples to somewhat get rid of the pounding in my head. It hurt.

"Bye."

It was soft, a bit far away, but it was theirs. They had said it. I hadn't said it back.

I wanted to look up to make sure I had heard it correctly, make sure it was really them that had said it. The pounding made me keep my head still though. It had made me turn the corners of my lips, a slither of a smile. Even though the aching didn't go away, I liked their voice; it didn't hurt.

Clutching my ear with one hand, the other rose up, closing the window while I tried to keep my head shielded by the wall, the light was still too bright. Shutting the curtains, I slid down the wall. Static, dimmed light, it was calming. Better.