To Whom it May Concern (short)

“Yes, I’ll hold,” she spoke, propping the phone up with her shoulder as she sorted through the mail in front of her. Bills, bills, more bills, and a personal letter. Her eyes caught on the return address; the name was unfamiliar. While the elevator ‘hold’ music played in her ear, she sat at the small round table in her kitchen and tore open the letter messily.

Inside were several sheets of lined paper folded into together. They resisted being opened, as if they had been folded for a long time.

To whom it may concern,    

                        This may seem strange. In fact, it is quite strange. We are not acquainted yet, but I’ve been instructed to write you this memo from the big wigs in the fiftieth floor. It’s all about this old-aged time travel nonsense. Supposedly we’re supposed to write letters every other week now and hold a pen pal relationship with someone from the past. So I guess I’m stuck with you- just kidding. I’m sure you’re quite a normal person. Hopefully not so normal that this just seems like a prank or something to you. I promise it’s quite real. I’m writing this at my post in the Fetzner building right now in New York. It’s about thirty years in the future- we can’t tell exact dates because they weren’t sure which years these would get sent to. Apparently time travel can be a little tricky sometimes. Anyways, just wanted to let you know what’s going on and that I really hope you try and respond so I can at least get a little enjoyment out of this. Try not to be too boring, okay?

P.S. No, we do not have hover boards. They’ve incredibly                           Sincerely,

 inefficient and frankly, they just look stupid.                                                  Al Sinpar

P.P.S. No, that’s not my real name. Did you really think

Someone would name their kid that anyway? We’re not

allowed to disclose our real names for obvious reasons.

Sorry.”

 

            “What?” she whispered to herself. Suddenly, the elevator music stopped and a voice crackled to life.

“Hello Miss, what can I do for you?” It was a man, fairly young by the sound of his voice.

“Actually, I was calling about- ”

“Is this in reference to your bulk order of envelopes and stamps? I’m afraid we’re out of stock in the butterfly stamps that you selected. May I interest you in puppy stamps? Perhaps koala stamps?”

She blinked. “My bulk order of envelopes and stamps?”

“So the puppy stamps then?”

“Well, I seriously don’t know- what kind of puppies are they?” she found herself asking.

“Golden retrievers. Terribly cute. I’m putting you down for twelve sheets of frolicking puppy stamps. One of our most popular choices, I might add.”

She set the letter down on the table, switching the phone to her other ear. “But sir, I didn’t-”

“Fabulous. Your order will arrive no later than noon on Wednesday. Have a wonderful evening, Miss.”

She stuttered, looking at the phone in confusion as the line went dead. Noon on Wednesday? Envelopes and stamps? Her eyes flicked up to clock on her wall. 11:59.

It was Wednesday.

She set the phone down and ran to the front door and opened it to see a cardboard box lying on her doorstep. There was no label, simply ‘New York’ written across the top. She brought it inside and tore it open on top of the table.

Envelopes and stamps. Twelve sheets of stamps to be exact, each stamp filled with the face of a golden retriever puppy.

After about a minute of confusion, she shrugged and looked around. “I guess I should find some paper, then.”

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