Bearer of Bad News

Warning: the following content contains mention of death.

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By: Charlotte Shum

Three dozen piles of mail were the usual. No more, no less. It was all Frank needed to deliver on his rotting bicycle. “Hey, Frankie! Lucky day, Sally’s got some mail. I never liked that old crone.” shouted a frizzy-haired girl waving a letter. Claire, she said her name was. Frank didn’t like her. She was too cheery, too happy, too...unprofessional for a job like this.

“You shouldn’t talk like that, we’re discussing death here,” he grumbled, slinging a stuffed pannier over his shoulder. Frank left the office, purposely avoiding the overly enthusiastic and annoying girl, who was looking over another letter. He hastily jumped on his bike and left for the city.

As always, the clouds radiated gloominess. Perfectly matching the sky, which as usual, had the same drabness even that irritating girl Claire would be outdone by. Frank was quite content with the weather. Even it respected his job, which in his opinion, would be quite awkward to complete on a hot, sunny day.

Frank took a deep breath and sighed. He didn't like his job or its strange practices, and he was sure none of his coworkers did too. It was a necessary evil, not so much necessary, maybe just evil. Nevertheless, it was still his responsibility.

He continued peddling before realising he had forgotten protocol in his departure from the office. The young man took out a letter from his pannier and read some of its contents.

"Paul Renault, 34. Gardener...Marylane Parking Lot."

Sighing once more, Frank quickened his pace then hoped that the day would be an uneventful one.

The dull outskirts of the city soon shifted to the noisy and packed area known as downtown Holtsburgh. Frank, with all his experience, sped through the streets. Complaints were yelled at him by the city's residents, but Frank didn't care, his job came first no matter how much he hated it.

Finally reaching the cramped parking lot described in the letter, Frank rode up to Mr Renault, who happened to be loading bags of soil into his car.

He tossed the letter to Mr Renault and gave him a tight-lipped smile. The man stared at him. "Are you with the postal service? H-how did you know I was here?" Frank, who was now checking his watch, simply shook his head and hurried away on his bicycle. The gardener gawked as the postman left the Parking lot, with a mixture of bewilderment and anxiousness painted on his face.

Frank swiftly cycled into the crowded street. He had just been reviewing another letter when suddenly, an out of control truck came rushing towards him. Unsurprised, Frank avoided it and leaned to the right, riding into another street. Frank stared at the truck as it flew into the parking lot and a deafening scream was heard. He winced, then winced even harder when he heard someone calling his name.

"Frank!" shouted Claire, clearly out of breath but beaming as usual, though seeming a bit stiff.

"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be off somewhere else, doing your job?"

"Wait, I just need to-"

"I'm not going to cover for your shift,” Frank snapped as he let his temper get the better of him. “Unlike you, I am professional enough that I can schedule my appointments so they don't clash with my shifts! We barely know each other, yet I'm tired of you asking me and the others to fix your blunders time and time again. I'm leaving."

The wearisome postman began peddling and left, abandoning the child at the street corner. While he did feel bad for lecturing the novice of three weeks, he wasn't going to let her get away from the consequences like the last three times. However, Claire continued to follow him, sprouting unintelligible words he could not hear.

Frank raced around the city to Chitra lane, the location mentioned in his next letter. Claire stayed hot on his trail, but too far to reach him. It continued to Ms Scidmore at 1923 South William Street, to Charlie Beckson in Frontier square, and Mr Allister in FrenchWood park; the place where he had finally managed to lose her.

As he rode away from the peaceful park, Frank sighed with relief. He was infuriated and planned to report Claire's ridiculous actions at the end of the day. He then took out another letter and read some of its contents.

"Ina J. Park, 19...Alleyway near Bexley Bay Assembly Hall, 109 Bayside Road."

Frank silently peddled to Baxley Bay. The bay area was often empty with only elderly inhabiting its barren land. It was one of his favourite areas in the city even though its roads were known to be particularly narrow.

He rode through the twists and turns of the solitary roads, reaching his destination only in a matter of minutes. Now standing outside the alleyway, Frank wandered in.

"Hello?" he said, eyes glancing around the alleyway as a layer of sheets covering the rooftops blocked out the sunlight. Frank stepped forward to get a better view of the narrow passageway. A loud groan sounded from a few metres ahead, accompanied by a strange squealing noise. Frank slowly walked forward but stopped as he heard a familiar voice.

"Frank! We need to talk!" Claire said from behind him.

Frustrated, Frank sighed and threw the letter deeper into the alleyway. He then hurried back into the main street, where Clare stood.

"What do you want from me!"

"I'm just doing my job if you would just let me!" replied Clarie as she awkwardly leaned on the Assembly Hall's neglected walls. The squealing loudened, followed by another groan from within the alleyway.

"What are you talking about!"

"If you would just let me explain, I need to give something to you." Claire shuffled towards Frank, her hands rummaging through her pockets.

Suddenly, another louder squeal wailed from above. Claire stopped. Her eyes quickly widening with alarm and arm pointing towards Frank's head as the squealing grew louder.

Frank looked up. At the sight of the noise's rectangular origin, his expression resembled Claire's, though Claire or anyone else would never see it as he was crushed by an air conditioning unit.

"Frank!" she cried, the object falling out of her pocket. Claire ran towards his unrecognisable body as the paper-thin article flew to the ground, revealing four sentences at the bottom in bold.

Frank Scidmore, 25.

Bearer of bad news, Southern Holtsburgh Office.

11:34 AM, death by air conditioning unit.

Bexley Bay Assembly Hall entrance, 109 Bayside Road.

Image: arnontphoto. (n.d.). Sketch of people who is bicycle messenger with cargo bike riding for delivery mail and listen music with headphone in Berlin [Illustration]. WDRfree. https://wdrfree.com/stock-vector/download/sketch-of-people-who-is-bicycle-messenger-with-cargo-bike-riding-for-delivery-mail-and-listen-music-with-headphone-in-berlin-free-hand-draw-illustration-vector-147285317