He put on his postal shoes. The LLV groaned as Arthur turned onto Route 7. The pavement ended after a quarter mile, giving way to gravel, then dirt, then nothing but packed leaves and the occasional deer track. The forest closed in. The sky, which had been a pale autumn blue, began to darken at the edges, not like sunset but like a bruise spreading across the horizon.
He closed the box. He stood. He looked at the Sorting, who had become a woman again, or almost. ultra mailer
Thank you for your service.
And he never told a soul.
—The Sorting Arthur read the letter three times. Then he folded it, slipped it back into the impossible envelope, and tucked both into the breast pocket of his blue postal uniform, right over his heart. He put on his postal shoes