Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-33539696-20171109174744

The delivery man stopped his iconic carriage at 401 Hudson at exactly 12:01am. He had a pick up to receive. He'd been by this way less than a year ago and now he was back. Stepping to the porch, he didn't remark to the many changes the house had gone through since he was here the last time. The previous owner had made it a point to paint the beams on the porch at least every other year, and they were starting to peel. The last time he was here, there hadn't been dandelions growing in the flowerbeds next to the house. Not that the delivery man noticed either one of these specific details, but the whole house looked like it had suffered from several months of neglect.

Stepping to the front door, he let himself in, and proceeded to where he knew the package would be waiting for him. There was a woman, in her mid to late forties, asleep on the couch. She didn't so much as stir as he passed by the foot of her makeshift bed. On to the den, with its many photos and treasures of a life well lived and a family well loved. There was a pile of bills on the end table, many of them marked past due; the husband had always dealt with the bills.

Finally, he reached his true destination. The master bedroom. Tucked into the covers, under a homemade quilt was a frail woman of about seventy or so. Her skin was like parchment. Her hair, thin and limp. An oxygen cannula ran to a large green cylinder beside her nightstand. As he reached her, she exhaled one final time.

"It's time" He said, rousing her. "Oh, dear. What a fuss" she replied, climbing out of the covers, and yet not disturbing them in the slightest, "My daughter stopped by for the week. She'll be beside herself. Might you come back in a couple days?" "You know I can't. I delayed this pickup this long because you were looking forward to her visit." He said, with a small smile. "You do that? Put off pickups?" She asked, as if the very possibility was inconceivable, despite the fact she'd asked for just such a delay just a few moments before. "Sometimes," he replied, gently guiding her through the house. "Will I see my Gregory? I miss him so" One could hear the longing in her voice. "He's waiting. He wanted to come, but union rules." "Pity. I'd so love to say goodbye to my daughter." she commented, as they passed the couch with its sleeping occupant. "It's not goodbye. It's just so long." he reminded her, guiding her through the front door, and across the weedy yard. "Are we going straight there, now?" she asked. A high pitched alarm could now be heard emanating from her room, but it no longer seemed important. "No," he apologized, "I have another pickup to make on the other side of town." "Oh? Anyone I know" She asked, as he guided her into his vehicle, and helped her to her seat. "I doubt it. He's a twenty-something. He is currently reading a short story on his phone, but he's about to run a red light, and peel the top off of his car." he told her, as he took his own seat, and begin to drive. "Pity. I do hope it was a story worth dying for." She quipped. "It wasn't" He said, as they left the neighborhood, headed toward the site of a terrible car crash. "It was some amateurish story about the grim reaper collecting an old widow." 