Blessing in Disguise

INT. POST OFFICE 2:15PM

This room, scarcely lit with yellow fluorescent lights, has a
roof that extends upward exponentially.
There are colossal sized window panes extruding upwards ten feet
at least. The tiles were a nauseating brown hue joined together
by black grout.
There are two well-polished glass entryways. I, a teenager of
about 17 years of age, saunter in through the glass door on the
right.
I wave a friendly hello to the guard monitoring a door to my left
with bolded red letters hanging above it stating EXIT.
The guards manner was one of repugnance, he sat with a grimacing
look on his face.
I turned my attention away from him and on to the distasteful
floor as I walked forward around metal poles.
Subsequently they formed the shape of an S through the use of
carefully cut elongated, but thick, threads of polyester.
Five feet ahead of me was an elegantly shaped, hourglass like,
birch wood sign. Ninety degrees to my left that had etched text
that formed the words Line Starts Here.
I turned my head to the right and began to inspect my reflection
from the magnificently large segment of glass. I could see myself
so vividly, it was comparable to the quality of a mirror.
The glass relayed back the sight of a teenager who was about
511 with a newly shaven face, lavish chestnut hair, and sharp
physical physique.
Covering his upper body was a long sleeve white button down shirt
with a tie protruding out of the collar with the tip reaching
just down to the belt.
Sheltering his lower body were handsome black dress pants
complimented by black dress shoes with white soles.
Completing the outfit was a welcoming black trench coat with
pockets being graced with white stitching around its outskirts.
Possessing in his hands a shoe box for someone with size twelve
feet.

Saturated in this box were hundreds of exquisitely handpicked

blueberries. Each individual blueberry gave off a bright shine
like that of a sapphire when struck with superior light.
I adjusted my face away from the mirror and concentrated my
vision on a lightly shaded man walking away from one of the
clerks with a bitter taste on his face.
I walked forward to the open clerk and gave her the shoe box.
The woman was a lady of about fifty years of age. She bore
glasses that were pressed tightly to the bridge base of her nose.
She wore the industry standard blue collared shirt with black
Dockers.
When she was handed the not yet sealed shoe box revealing the
blueberries, a blank look instantly warped onto her face. She
rolled her eyes and pushed the package back in to my hands.
Now attached to the box was a list of items, placed there by the
woman, that could not be shipped. One individual line caught my
attention: perishable goods.
I oscillated my body towards the exit, I was automatically
paralyzed, and turned a ghostly white color.
The shoe box tumbled to the floor, now laying prostrate with the
top off to the side, blue juice moistening the floor.
I dropped forward towards the ground, face first in to my shoe
box. My face was smothered in liquid at this point.
I felt someone seize my arm and maneuver their fingers palpating
my wrist to analyze my pulse. Suddenly, the person let my arm go.
I knew what was coming next and I was prepared. This was the
plan I thought in my head.
I was abruptly touched on my side with force in attempt to shift
me on to my back.
Immediately I got up and made a casual trek out the door, my face
now looked similar to ones face of the Blue Man Group.
To the right of the door was a picture frame with a rather
familiar face on it. More importantly, the word WANTED! was
illustrated above the photo.
That familiar face on the wanted sign, was my own face.
EXT- OUT OF POST OFFICE 2:47PM