It was summer vacation. My parents were out of town for a couple weeks so I was alone. I don't have any siblings or friends, so the summer is just two months of doing nothing, what else can a fifteen year-old do? Well, not nothing, because I do spend my summers writing. I create exciting and awesome worlds for myself to explore. I create people and places to travel to and interact with. I even write stories and legends, most of which are completely fictional, but that does not matter. And all of this is achieved through my writing. However, I have always seemed to have trouble taking the words and ideas from my brain and putting them on paper. Turning what I picture in my mind as a beautiful landscape, to a boring flatland. So when I say I write, I really mean think, because none of my ideas have ever left my head. As many times as I have tried to write, the end result is always the same. It involves me staring at the blank document on my computer screen.
After about an hour of my usual screen staring time, I hear a knock on the door. Before answering the door, I wondered who could be visiting, since most people in our small neighbourhood knew my parents were away. I opened the door to see the mailman with a small package in his hands. I've come to know the mailman quite well. He is dressed in the usual postal service attire of a blue shirt and shorts with knee high socks. He also wears a blue newsboy cap, which isn't part of his uniform but he claims it is. The cap frames his round face and features, although his bushy white mustache sticks out a little. Pinned to his shirt he wears a name tag that says "Bert" but most people in the area already know his name, including myself. He delivers all the mail to the houses in my area, and he never complains. Although I can't see why he would, the neighbourhood is small, the houses are small, even the amount of mail we get is small. Everything about this place is rather small.
Bert breaks my train of thought by greeting me with a quick hello. I come back to my senses and quickly return the greeting. Bert smiles and says, "Hey, Jeremy, I got a package here with your name on it. From some kid named Maxwell. Can't say where it's from exactly, but I don't think that matters much." Bert's voice always surprises me, one would think he has a rather rough voice from his appearance, but his voice is quite soft with the slightest hint of a southern accent. "It is good to see that you've made a friend, using this internet to make friends, that's a step up for you." Bert continued breaking my train of thought once again.
I thanked Bert for delivering the package and signed the paper. I took the package from Bert and closed the door gently. I turned around and walked over to the small coffee table in the middle of the living room, and put the package down. Strange I thought, I hadn't made any new friends on the internet. In fact, I had no idea who sent the package, but I didn't have the heart to tell Bert that.