Mercurial Mailman

Benny was being chased by the school bullies again. He spied a small door along the wall. Benny swung in and dived behind a counter. Footsteps thundered past, and voices shouted in confusion. Benny breathed a sigh of relief.

He peered above the counter to see where he was. The room was small, the far wall covered in cubbyholes stuffed with packages. Letters spilled out of a large sack on the ground. Was this a post office? Something moved. Benny quickly ducked down, peeking around the corner. A bearded, athletic-looking man wearing a white toga walked out from behind a stack of cardboard boxes carrying a lyre. He was starting to play when a woman walked in.

 “Welcome to Mercury Mail!” the man said, setting down the instrument. He spoke with a Greek accent.

Benny didn’t catch the entire conversation. The woman seemed to have a letter, and called the man Hermes. After she left, Hermes dropped the woman’s letter into his sack, heaved it over his shoulder, and left as well. He wore winged sandals.

Benny, still hiding, thought about what he’d heard. Hermes was the the Greek messenger god; he’d learned about it in history class. And the lady had paid him in drachmas, ancient Greek money. Was this postal service really run by a god? In any case, Benny wanted to go home. But before he reached the door, Hermes came back, sack now empty. Benny stopped in his tracks, startled. Hermes looked surprised too, but smiled.

“What brings you here?” he said.

“I was… being chased?” Benny replied uncertainly.

“School bullies?” Hermes asked. Benny nodded.

“I hate those,” Hermes said disapprovingly. “Do they come after you often?” Benny nodded again.

Hermes laughed. “Don’t be so frightened! I’m not Zeus. He’s one to watch out for. I’m just Hermes! Who are you?”

“Benny,” replied the boy.

“Well Benny, would you like some help avoiding those bullies?” Hermes asked.

“Okay,” Benny replied.

“Wait here,” said Hermes, disappearing behind the cardboard boxes. He came back with a shoebox for Benny. Inside were a pair of blue sandals.

They fit Benny perfectly. “Try running,” prompted Hermes. But Benny hadn’t gone far when two wings sprouted out from each sandal! Benny shouted in surprise as he zoomed forward three times faster than before. Hermes laughed. “No one can catch you now!” he exclaimed. Benny slowed and looked at the god with wide eyes.

“Gee, thanks,” he said. “But why…?”

“I dislike bullies,” Hermes said simply, shrugging. “But anyway, time for you to run along now!”

Benny was still in a state of awe, but picked up his backpack and headed out the door. That man really was a god! He glanced at his watch. 4:30. Oh no! His mother would be wondering where he had been! Benny broke into a run. His sandals sprouted wings again, and he sped off into the distance.

Hermes smiled to himself as he watched the boy go. Mail sent, mortals happy. A good day’s work.

Dracula's Return

The employees of the hospital thought it was odd when a tall, thin man walked into the hospital covered in black clothes and asked for a job at the hospital morgue. They thought it was even stranger when the man said his name was Dracula and seemed convinced that he’d been born in 1430. But, being believers of science rather than myth, the hospital employees decided he was being theatrical and gave him the job. They needed more people anyway.

As such, everyone was surprised when all the bodies disappeared the next day.

Naturally, the first suspect was the alleged vampire. Especially since “Dracula” had disappeared with the corpses.

The hospital contacted Harker & Helsing, the local detective agency. Refusing to take the hospital’s claim of an undead suspect seriously, the agency sent James and Victor, two bumbling teenagers.

 “Where would a vampire hide?” Victor wondered upon receiving their assignment.

“Maybe a cemetery?” suggested James.

No other ideas between them, the two set off for the local cemetery. As they approached, they found a group of perhaps twenty milling among the tombstones; not a likely place for a runaway vampire. Yet before turning back, the boys realized this group was quite strange. They were all rather pale. Some even lacked limbs. But most conspicuously, each donned a tattered hospital gown.

New vampires?

“Now what?” whispered James. Victor shrugged.

“Look for Dracula?”

They cautiously approached the crowd, ready to run at any moment. James fingered the small knife hidden in his pocket. The boys circled the group once, wondering briefly if the potentially-vampires were even aware of their presence. There was no tall man in black. They were about to report to the hospital about their discovery of the missing undead when Victor noticed something on a nearby stump. A dark, humanoid figure sitting on it was partially hidden in the shadows.

James and Victor approached the figure, certain it was Dracula. But as James reached into his pocket for his knife –  

“Why does everyone hate me?!” Dracula wailed. “I thought making more vampires would give me companions. But they just ignore me and wish they were dead again!”

He noticed James and Victor.

“I would kill you, but I would still be friendless,” he said sadly. The boys were speechless for a moment.

“Maybe if you didn’t kill people so often, they’d like you more?”  ventured James.

“Really?” said Dracula, brightening. “But they’re always afraid of me,” he added dismally, hanging his head. James and Victor looked at each other uncertainly. This hadn’t turned out as they had expected.

The boys tried to comfort Dracula by telling him that other people were also ostracized at times, and assured him that they would help him find his place in society.

“You could start by returning the corpses,” advised Victor.  

Dracula listened intently, gaining hope through their words. He even became convinced that it was his duty to help others who were as misunderstood and discriminated against as he was.

And thus, Dracula became an advocate for minority rights. 

Through a "Window"

College essay that I may or may not use... but I like it! :D

The glass panels surrounding the ice rink are clear today. Through them, I see a group of young figure skaters getting ready for practice. They giggle amongst themselves as they start skating around the rink. Their coach sternly tells them to stop talking and start skating. The skaters tone down the conversation a little and are soon hard at work, skating, spinning, and jumping. I see my nine-year-old self bumbling around, trying to remember my program for my first competition.
I took my first skating lesson in second grade and never stopped. Skating is one of the constants in my life; I’ve gone through other extracurricular activities, like soccer, ballet, gymnastics. I’ve changed schools, changed houses, changed countries, but through it all, I’ve always been a figure skater. Skating for so long has, of course, taught me many things. There are the usual life lessons of perseverance and time management. But it has also taught me that falling a few times is a necessary part of life if you want to succeed. That 5:30 am actually isn’t that early of a time to wake up and head to the rink. That winning doesn’t necessarily involve a gold medal. I’ve learned that most people outside the rink think it is weird, if not bordering unnatural, when your leg can easily go above your head.
Skating is my life (minus school). I’ve put hours and hours into it, giving up other things I might have otherwise done, but I still love the sport. Even when I stop skating regularly at the old age of, perhaps, 24, I will never forget the excitement of competition, the feeling of flying into the air, and the laughter and fun times I’ve had with the best friends I made at the rink.