The Rejection Letter

For the last week every morning I've sat on the porch.  Drinking my coffee. Waiting for the mail man to come. Waiting for the letter. Hoping to snatch it up. And hide it under the mattress. So that its contents may never harm anyone.

Today I didn't check. Someone else did. Now they hold it before me unaware that the only thing protecting me is the delicate envelope. They ask "Can we watch you, Open it?" Watch me? Does one watch as a H-bomb is dropped? The potential is massive. But is it not better to be handled with care?

I slowly remove it, being careful not to break the seal. It rest on my desk waiting for a few half-lives to pass. It's better to wait until the letter looses it's power. The sun fades away.

I open it. It has words. These words strung together determine my next year. I can't read it. "I'm sorry to inform you.." These words cut deep. The suspense has been terrible. It should never have been opened.  Left under the mattress it would have slowly turned to dust. Years later a breeze would blow it away, never to be seen by anyone. So yeah.. That's not what the letter said. That's what the letters in the small envelopes say. I knew right away. This letter came in the Big Envelope.