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Interstellar Postman

When you are feeling down, sick or in depression, your brain dissolves and doesn't catch fire easily. So the other day when you really wanted to go to the ball park, you did not, well that was a good decision anyway. Because you would have not felt anything there. Not even the giant 4-D screen hanging in the middle of the ball park, displaying every single reminiscent shot from the 30's to the 90's and to the year 2050. The guy who designed this electronic time's eye would have probably had so much to tell but could not because he was in a million year stasis with only his brain working connected to the quantum computer. Strange indeed because he would have computed everything from the beginning of time till today and the end of time and still he needed to work all day doing his best to come up with the perfect pre match and post match combo images so that the losers can live on their past successes and the winners frown of not beating a single record set between then and now. Maybe I should pay them a visit, at their luxury homes at Ganymeade.

My tag line is not very good for my business. I tell a sad story, a very sad word that's turning my customers away. "Aren't you dying to get a real letter?". Like it? "Your grandma, Today!" by Jakobs Silverstein was as dumb as a robot dog by Sony Stellar Corps but then you never knew how many big babies out there miss their past. I wanted to do something different but the big boss wanted something really good so that his summer home in Valley Marines would get finished just in time for his 2oth marriage. But the thing about my deliveries are that we had this sponsor logos neatly packed together with their letters and boxes, so that the kids or their kids would get all this great goodies like the Adidas Star Dust sneakers they could never afford or the latest blow up toys from Playboy together with their thank you card or report card from Planet Earth. Normally a single 20 gram letter would end up weighing a few kilos because of all this guys trying to steal the Christmas. But I dont care. If boss wanted to build a dream house on stilts so that he can bang miss dewi someone from whats left of Indonesia, I don't give a damn. All I want is to go to the edge of the solar system and make people happy receiving their packages.

So the other day I met this time's eye programmer dude whose about to get his body in the freezer for another gazillion years. He programmes something mega big for NASA so that they can look at whats in all those big galaxies far away. I mean where's the fun in watching at something from far away? You have this big ships stranded at the yard not being able to fly because the captain's been asking for a raise. Some million bucks more so that the next time some of the get fried by alien suns, their families back home can afford a summer holiday on the shores of Titan. I, well I'm underpaid like all my previous jobs. But the moment I get into that cockpit and direct the craft towards Jupiter or Pluto or god knows where in the billion strong Ooort cloud, all I could imagine is the faces of children waiting for their Traditional Mail (TM) from earth. It's not a very fun name, but well...what should we call it then? Snail mail? relic mail?

You may wonder who or why people want to write something on papers in 2050. Well, ever since all the real tree's on earth have been turned into chopsticks to feed the 10 billion strong China and all the squids in the oceans has been mined as astronauts (squidonauts) to far away planets, we didn't really have anything to write with. Someone with a great love for ancient stuff (anything 10 years or older) had this big idea of starting a post service to enable the rich kids with their own planet to send written letters to their equally rich spoiled friends at Pluto, etc. So Interstellar Post Inc. salvaged all the papers from every dump on earth, moon and mars and made big money in a million bucks a pop (of mail) service. We still spend more than half of it flying those space ships with plasma rockets with trillion buck fuels. But hey, I'm not complaining. The other day, Mr Onasis from Titan tipped me big and made me stay in his villa near the virgin beaches on that silly moon of Saturn. Silly silly moon...the biggest discovery of our lifetimes, the cradle of earth life and America sold it to this old geezer. Sometimes I wish I was a rebel scientist blasting these buggers out of the universe.

I dont know what I really like in doing this. Im 27, a few light years from my home and life. It's a new feeling everyday seeing this people on the edges of their mind and universe. They're escapists, convicts of time and love. They wanted away from all this. Made their money from the diamond rush of the 21st century, of oil and African slaves. Not to mention the earthquake years and war and nuclear blasts in India and Japan. But those are far away, seems more like dreams today. Somebodies bad dream, somebodies revenge. Delivered an old stamp book and family album to this girl on the asteroid fields of Jupiter. Never asked her what she was doing all this way from home, alone. But did spend a night there, stole her soul for a few hours, days. I don't know, time is relative to some, to everyone else time is the enemy, slowly creeping and killing us. I will be like this always I guess, jumping, sliding from planet to planet, civilizations far away, ringing door bells on homes floating in the gravity wells of Alpha Centuri. For all I care, these people need love. Love and someone to talk to. So I read out their mails, I look at their family albums, videos, whatever they get. Sometimes they just die there, on my lap or while dozing of in the evening sun, their head resting on my shoulder. I would put them on cryofreeze before flying off to my next delivery.

They say on my company motto that postman's never leave behinds traits of love or passions. They bring the biggest joys or sadness, but they never left a warm spot. I did, all these years, with all this people living of their spoils of the century. Digging their shallow ground trying to trace life back to their ancestors and they find me on their doorstep, with a baseball cap and a brown box. Fed-Ex madam, Fed-Ex sir, I brought you your life. Don't forget me forever. I'm alone like you too.

Comments

Anonymous said…
Why on earth you think you're gonna be alone...YOU are not.
I aint gonna let you be.
I'm sure they know how adorable you are....and oh by the way, heckuva intelligent too...!!

I absolutely luuuurrrved this post for all its dreamy things about the planets, the earth, the moon and the girl on Jupiter !!!
And hey I think your boss is prob'ly in love with you..he he !!

And specially those lines,

".....Delivered an old stamp book and family album to this girl on the asteroid fields of Jupiter. Never asked her what she was doing all this way from home, alone. But did spend a night there, stole her soul for a few hours, days."

Awwwwwww...that is so darn romantic. I never knew you could be so warm and mushy and romantic. looks like you'd make a wonderful knight in a shining armour !!

By the way who are we talking about here...huh ?
C'mon tell us ya.
We're frens rem'br ???

Take care.
*hugsssss*
Anonymous said…
We all are alone even in a crowd, ghost.
Jeevan said…
Its very different post from u dear:)
Anonymous said…
hmmm better on a blog aint it? :)
Just wanted to say that i am back already. It takes very little to clear one's head about things.
Thanks for dropping in a line GP. last time i took a 24 hr break :P

Ah... Felt like watching a sci fi with human twist... very human.

Cheers mayt!
Keshi said…
ur gonna be alone? Then join me :) Then we both wont be alone.


Keshi.
Sojourner said…
that 24hr break info was from me. I dont know what is wrong with blogger. Oh i do know!
U switched to beta... or rather the new blogger didntcha??!! :)
Ghost Particle said…
guys im so so sorry but blogger beta screwed ur identities. Thanx for all the comments!

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