Cold wind gusting past him, Fred trudged the weary blocks in his best uniform. Cap set jauntily upon his brow, he maintained a cheerful demeanor, even though deep inside his heart was leaden with doubts and uncertainties. Stifling a sigh –part in anticipation, part in resignation– he shifted his satchel of letters and turned onto Lady McLatterly’s walk. Today was the day.
Seeing her car in the drive, Fred passed the mailbox and instead knocked, then stood trembling slightly. Lady McLatterly answered the door and gazed upon Fred. She saw the sad expectation in his eyes, the greyish palor and shaky hands, the permanent slouch in which he carried himself. She smiled, and was about to speak her customary, “Good day, my sweet postal worker!” when she happened to glance behind him. The smile slowly slid from her face as she beheld the evening sky growing dark… swirls and whirls appeared in the cloudy skies. Weird striations of the atmosphere formed. An ominous hush fell across the town.
Fred, oblivious to the environmental discomfiture, cleared his throat, his eyes uncertain. He opened his mouth, closed it. Opened it once again. As he began to speak the words buried in his heart, Lady McLatterly’s hand flew to her mouth and she jumped back into the doorway in terror… A scream issued from her lungs as she saw Fred torn assunder by the rain of fire which poured from the heavens — the first words of his proposal barely past his lips.
