The Postman (short-story)

[Actana]

The rooster crowed a familiar tune. Olly groaned as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, the same sleep he had had a thousand times now. The same rooster, the same crowing. Well, sometimes the rooster was not there. Sometimes it was the horse that woke him. But Olly was smart, and he had had time to get used to the signs. It was the day of arrival at the post, and he had to once again do the rounds. Some days he cursed this place, but more often he felt like the place had cursed him.

                At least Svetlana was downstairs, making breakfast. It was her company that kept him going in the bad days, the days which felt like they never ended, repeating the same mundane tasks over and over in this backwards rural landscape. She understood, and sometimes it felt like she was the only one who understood. The travelers certainly didn’t, neither did the bandits. Or maybe they did, and that is why they chose violence. But the travelers didn’t. And that stung worst of all for Olly. Not because he felt pride in understanding, but because he felt sad for them. But he swallowed it down, and played his part.

                “Are you coming downstairs, dear? There’s so much left to do before the arrivals!” Svetlana cried.

                “In a moment, in a moment.” Olly answered. “And it’s not like they’ll even see the back rooms”, he added under his breath. Regardless, he put on his breeches and shirt, and head downstairs. The floorboards creaked. Of course they did. It was that kind of day this time around, the kind where he would be the butt of all possible jokes. Unfortunately, he just had to bear it. Fortunately, breakfast was ready.

                Before Olly could reach the pot of stew to partake in his wife’s lovely cooking, the door opened, a breeze of ominous air washed over the room. This was sooner than he expected, but Olly shrugged. He knew this type just as well as the ones who came later. Four figures came in, these ones… refreshingly mundane this time. Cloaks, chainmail, robes, the usual fare. An elf, a dwarf, two humans. Olly raised an eyebrow, did some mental math as the four discussed things among themselves. It was one of his pleasures at this point, and he was getting good at it. Olly picked one of the humans as the most likely candidate, the one wearing the cloak with his facial features least visible. He knew the type.

                The elf stepped forward first, and Olly walked to the counter, clearing his throat. It was time, once again, to perform his duties.

                “Hail, bartender”, the elf started. Olly was not a bartender. “We are here on the orders of the king”, the elf continued. They were not on the orders of the king. “Do you have… A quest for us?” the elf asked. Stop calling them quests.

                Olly took a deep breath, calmed his nerves. So pushy, no time to socialize. All work, no play. But they were clearly new here, and it wasn’t their fault. He put on his best performative smile and raised a nearby tankard, while also grabbing a rag to clean it with. They loved that, they always did. He wasn't quite sure why.

                “Hail, adventurers!” Olly beamed at them. “Indeed, there have been bandits in these lands, and both my wife and I are grateful for the assistance you can render”, he said, skipping most of the customary introductions he was more used to doing with the slower paced customers. “The board outside of my house has the details you need.” Sometimes Olly wondered if they ever even saw it before they got in. Surely it was there, right? Hard to miss, but I guess it just got lost in all the other details. Whatever, it always showed up eventually. They were all the same anyway, pulled to his home, for what? Promises of lands, or riches? The fools. There were no such things here. Olly had seen thousands of them come before, wide eyed, lusting for power. And how many of them had failed?

                “Bandits?” the elf sneered, waking Olly from his reverie. “It’s bandits, again? Last time I was here, I-”

                Olly felt a sharp pain through his chest, as if he was struck by a revelation, an opportunity. Was this the moment? Was there a traveler who understood? His eyes grew wide, and he lifted his hand to reach out towards the elf, to grab him by his cloak and plead with him, but he could not. His hand, as if locked in place by a terrible force, refused to move any further. No, no, no! Olly thought, desperately. I was so close!

                But it was too late. The four adventurers started disappearing, fading from physical form into ghostly apparitions and from there into nothingness. One by one they began to vanish. First was the dwarf. Then the elf quickly thereafter. The two humans remained for what seemed to be weeks, if not months. Then the third one faded out, giving a sad “peace” sign with his fingers. The fourth, the human, the one Olly had picked out earlier, simply stood there, watching him, frozen in time. Unmoving, abandoned. Olly sighed, as the world soon began to fade too, bit by bit, until only he remained. And then it was all black.

-----

                The rooster crowed a familiar tune. Olly, as his wife liked to call him, groaned as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and set about once more to welcome the newest party to his establishment. Why he had ever decided to move here was beyond him. This place was cursed. There was no future in this land, there was only Oleg’s Trading Post.

Edited July 19, 2023 by Actana (see edit history)

[Basil_Bottletop]

Oh Oleg and his poor existence at the Outpost at the Edge of the World. We hardly knew ye.

[Bartmanhomer]

On 7/19/2023 at 4:17 PM, Actana said:

The rooster crowed a familiar tune. Olly groaned as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, the same sleep he had had a thousand times now. The same rooster, the same crowing. Well, sometimes the rooster was not there. Sometimes it was the horse that woke him. But Olly was smart, and he had had time to get used to the signs. It was the day of arrival at the post, and he had to once again do the rounds. Some days he cursed this place, but more often he felt like the place had cursed him.

                At least Svetlana was downstairs, making breakfast. It was her company that kept him going in the bad days, the days which felt like they never ended, repeating the same mundane tasks over and over in this backwards rural landscape. She understood, and sometimes it felt like she was the only one who understood. The travelers certainly didn’t, neither did the bandits. Or maybe they did, and that is why they chose violence. But the travelers didn’t. And that stung worst of all for Olly. Not because he felt pride in understanding, but because he felt sad for them. But he swallowed it down, and played his part.

                “Are you coming downstairs, dear? There’s so much left to do before the arrivals!” Svetlana cried.

                “In a moment, in a moment.” Olly answered. “And it’s not like they’ll even see the back rooms”, he added under his breath. Regardless, he put on his breeches and shirt, and head downstairs. The floorboards creaked. Of course they did. It was that kind of day this time around, the kind where he would be the butt of all possible jokes. Unfortunately, he just had to bear it. Fortunately, breakfast was ready.

                Before Olly could reach the pot of stew to partake in his wife’s lovely cooking, the door opened, a breeze of ominous air washed over the room. This was sooner than he expected, but Olly shrugged. He knew this type just as well as the ones who came later. Four figures came in, these ones… refreshingly mundane this time. Cloaks, chainmail, robes, the usual fare. An elf, a dwarf, two humans. Olly raised an eyebrow, did some mental math as the four discussed things among themselves. It was one of his pleasures at this point, and he was getting good at it. Olly picked one of the humans as the most likely candidate, the one wearing the cloak with his facial features least visible. He knew the type.

                The elf stepped forward first, and Olly walked to the counter, clearing his throat. It was time, once again, to perform his duties.

                “Hail, bartender”, the elf started. Olly was not a bartender. “We are here on the orders of the king”, the elf continued. They were not on the orders of the king. “Do you have… A quest for us?” the elf asked. Stop calling them quests.

                Olly took a deep breath, calmed his nerves. So pushy, no time to socialize. All work, no play. But they were clearly new here, and it wasn’t their fault. He put on his best performative smile and raised a nearby tankard, while also grabbing a rag to clean it with. They loved that, they always did. He wasn't quite sure why.

                “Hail, adventurers!” Olly beamed at them. “Indeed, there have been bandits in these lands, and both my wife and I are grateful for the assistance you can render”, he said, skipping most of the customary introductions he was more used to doing with the slower paced customers. “The board outside of my house has the details you need.” Sometimes Olly wondered if they ever even saw it before they got in. Surely it was there, right? Hard to miss, but I guess it just got lost in all the other details. Whatever, it always showed up eventually. They were all the same anyway, pulled to his home, for what? Promises of lands, or riches? The fools. There were no such things here. Olly had seen thousands of them come before, wide eyed, lusting for power. And how many of them had failed?

                “Bandits?” the elf sneered, waking Olly from his reverie. “It’s bandits, again? Last time I was here, I-”

                Olly felt a sharp pain through his chest, as if he was struck by a revelation, an opportunity. Was this the moment? Was there a traveler who understood? His eyes grew wide, and he lifted his hand to reach out towards the elf, to grab him by his cloak and plead with him, but he could not. His hand, as if locked in place by a terrible force, refused to move any further. No, no, no! Olly thought, desperately. I was so close!

                But it was too late. The four adventurers started disappearing, fading from physical form into ghostly apparitions and from there into nothingness. One by one they began to vanish. First was the dwarf. Then the elf quickly thereafter. The two humans remained for what seemed to be weeks, if not months. Then the third one faded out, giving a sad “peace” sign with his fingers. The fourth, the human, the one Olly had picked out earlier, simply stood there, watching him, frozen in time. Unmoving, abandoned. Olly sighed, as the world soon began to fade too, bit by bit, until only he remained. And then it was all black.

-----

                The rooster crowed a familiar tune. Olly, as his wife liked to call him, groaned as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and set about once more to welcome the newest party to his establishment. Why he had ever decided to move here was beyond him. This place was cursed. There was no future in this land, there was only Oleg’s Trading Post.

Good short story. 🙂