Ruthless Creatures by J.T. Geissinger

got stuck behind. When we went to replace the boxes, we
found it.”
He holds the envelope out to me. I recoil in sheer terror.
When I just stand there gaping at it like a crazy person, he
says, “It’s uh…it’s addressed to you.”
I whisper breathlessly, “Okay. Okay. Just…hold on a sec.”
He looks left. He looks right. He looks like he’s really,
really regretting ringing my doorbell.
“Sorry. I’m so sorry.” I snatch the envelope from his hand,
whirl around, and run back inside, then slam the door behind
me. I collapse against it, clutching the envelope and gasping
for breath.
After a moment, I hear his voice.
“Do you want me to… Do you need someone to be with
you when you open it?”
I have to stuff my fist into my mouth so I don’t sob out
loud.
Just when you think the world is a worthless pile of
meaningless shit, the kindness of a random stranger can knock
you flat on your ass.
“I’m good,” I say, in a strangled voice that I’m sure
broadcasts exactly how not good I am. “Thank you, Josh.
You’re so sweet. Thank you.”
“Okay, then. Take care.”
I hear footsteps shuffle off, then he’s gone.
Because my knees can no longer support the weight of my
body, I slide to the floor. I sit there shaking against the door for
I don’t know how long, staring at the envelope in my sweaty
hands.
It’s stained in a few places. The paper is dry, tinged faintly
yellow. There’s a stamp in the upper right corner: the
American flag. It hasn’t gone through the post office, so
there’s no date stamp to indicate when David put it in the
outgoing box.