The Mailbox

[madlee]

In the middle of eastern Zone 4, a little house stands. There, twenty feet away in the bushes and herbs, a mailbox is Sunk into the ground, painted and decorated. It's the Mailbox, the way to communicate physically through the zones. The ones that distribute the goods people put in this box, people that are as equally Killjoys and Dracs, the postmen of the Zones are here called Runners. It's their base. It's a known fact on both sides of the war you can't attack a Runner. As they work for both sides, no one thinks to stop them in their distribution. The work they do is essential. Some of them even infiltrate Battery City to give news to families of Dracs or Killjoys, (if they are willing, for these lasts). BL/ind or don't know or don't care about the Runners : what's sure is amongst the Dracs, it's not a subject of discussion though they use the mailbox a lot.

Everyone is free to post. The team of Runners are engaged to distribute every letter that falls inside the box.

[madlee]

*I sit on the steps that lead to the door of the Shack. The wind of the desert is not too intense here, it barely ruffles my dirty blond hair. I swirl my spoon in the metal cup full of dissoluble coffee. Making coffee is not something I offer myself very often. First because it's rare in the region, second because it's long and hard - having to let water boil in the sun is very annoying - and third because it's not the best to drink in a scorching desert. But caffeine just feels so good, I can't help it. And damn, Jewels deserves a round of honor. The other Runners are still on the road, they know nothing of what happened. As soon as one of them gets home, I'll tell them. I'm not able to do this kind of announcement by radio. I look at the Mailbox. It's empty save from a letter to Battery City. The directives towards the City are to wait for at least three mails before trying to get into the city. I stand up painfully. My ankle still hurts like hell. My scooter is parked at its habitual spot. I finish the cup and slap my chest. Life without Jewels will be so different. No one to joke stupidly with me. Oh, let's stop thinking about that. The more you think the more it hurts, no? I get inside the shack and sink on the chair at the radio.*