Unpromised Home

unwritten words

'in which you search for paper'

A long and pained sigh slips from your lips as you take the stack of envelopes from Layla's hands. You flip through them. About a dozen and a half, most of which being addressed to America. At least that makes your job a bit easier.

"Hold on a moment. I believe..." Layla shuffles through her own small stack of letters. "I have one for you too."

You take the letter that she holds out toward you from her hand, sliding it to the bottom of your small pile. You'll check who it's from when you finish.

"I've heard that the States will be beginning to arrive to DC soon." You glance back up to Layla as she rests her hand down on the surface of her desk. "I'm sure you'll be meeting some new faces this month. You're only familiar with California, Texas and Tennessee right?"

"Yeah... That's right."

"They've always been an... odd bunch." She sighs, shaking her head. You have a feeling she wanted to use a stronger word than 'odd'. Maybe 'pains in the ass' if you had to guess by the expression that crosses her face. "Always fighting..." She mumbles before pushing off her desk and placing her hands on her hips. "Anyways, you'd best get to delivering those letters."

"Right." You glance down at the stack of letters in your hand. Time to just get this over with...

You walk down the long halls of the office, going through the letters once more. Three for first floor offices, eight for second floor offices, then the rest are for America. What a popular guy...

You make your rounds on the first floor. It takes you a moment to find the offices. They were nestled in the far corner of the office, at the very end of a dimly lit hall.      Now that your pile was three letters lighter, you head for the stair case that leads to the second floor. You sigh as you push open the heavy door.

You really dont like this stairwell. It's mostly the mold that grows in black spotted patches against white walls. The mold that congregates in the nooks and crannies of the stairs themselves. And then it's also in the spiderwebs that hang from the ceilings, entrenched thick with flies. Long story short, it was gross. It made you feel like your skin was crawling whenever you had to walk up it, which you had to do more than enough times throughout the day. It really needs to be cleaned... And repaired... Its a wonder no ones gotten sick from the mold that grows on the walls, and the dust that floats in the air in thick clouds.

Pushing open the door at the top, you sigh in relief. And then you sneeze. Maybe you would be this stairwells next victim...

With slow steps, you wander through the simple maze of the second floor. You take ample time delivering the mail. Your feet drag on the carpet, as if the friction between the ground and the soles of your shoes will prevent the inevtiable from arriving at your door step. Or rather, you arriving outside of it's doorstep. With the final letter delivered to it's recipient, you're left with a stack of nine. Eight of which are for America. The last being yours.

You still walk slow as you walk in the direction of America's office, but the moment of you being forced to interact with him came hours before you wanted it to. A sigh of pure annoyance falls from your lips. Now its time for the longest five seconds of your life. You knock on the office door, and you step inside.

You walk over to America's desk, placing his eight letter on his desk. He looks up at you.

"Layla's got you running errands for her again I see?"

"It's not like you're giving me much to do." And here you thought you were making progress with America. It seems you're simply back at square one. Minus the all fear and anger you used to feel whenever you interacted with him. Now its just been replaced with a constant state of exhaustion.