by Darron Jackson

Created on: August 27, 2008

Monday morning and Carl started his usual mail route through the inner city streets of Harlem.

You wouldn't think being a mail carrier is a particularly depressing job. However most carriers weren't lonely souls like Carl, and didn't walk the routes of problematic Harlem.

The first house Carl attended was fairly routine.. It was 7:00 am and the smell of marijuana was in the air.. Carl barley noticed as he slipped a few envelopes into the box and carried on.

Further down the street the winds picked up and some garbage formed a small tornado. The wind shifted and scattered it over the cracked concrete surface of the burrow. Carl just kept walking with the pressure of paying bills, and delivering mail driving him.

Turing into another house Carl heard people arguing on the inside. A common sound that Carl frequently heard when coming into close proximities of broken households. The voice of a man and women reverberated through the door. Carl quietly placed some bills into the mailbox in trying hard not to get involved with the people inside.

And Carl just kept walking down the street. Letting out a sigh every now and then as he passed drug attics walking down the sidewalk.

It was Christmas season meaning most mail carriers in the New York area kept a can of mace in arms reach. Carl signed a petition allowing mail carriers to carry firearms, but it didn't go through. Maybe they will reconsider after what happened next to Carl.

What was likely a drug fiend ran up behind Carl, and pushed him to the ground. Then he put a knife in front of his face.

"Give me the bag and I won't kill you!"

Carl obliged after one glace at the knife. He trusted its wielder had some experience with it.

Carl pulled the bag out from under his body and tossed it at his feet. The attacker threw it over his shoulder and fled the scene.

Carl picked himself up off the ground and walked to a pay phone. He dialled 911, and called it a wrap for the day.

*

Later that evening Carl sat in his basement apartment, deeply considering if he would show up for work the next morning.

His parents were deeply religious but Carl himself wasn't. In his head Carl pictured the man who attacked him. He ran scenes through his head where the attacker swooped down and put the blade through his flesh. Puncturing vital organs, and leaving him there to die on the sidewalk.

Carl reflected on the day, and thought there was somebody looking out for him. Somebody who was protecting him, and wanted to see Carl do well opposed to die.

Carl picked up a pen and paper and wrote a small letter:

"Dear God

I'm not sure if you exist. And for a long time I said that you didn't. But today I'm not satisfied with writing you off as a fictional character. So God if you read this please give me a sign."

Carl folded the letter up and placed it in a envelope. He sealed it shut and pondered about where he would address it. He wrote down the most logical address he could think of.

To: God
The Holy Kingdom of Heaven

He left the zip code blank thinking the letter would find its way there if there was a God. Carl scribbled down his return address, and licked a stamp to the envelop. He threw it in the mail pickup bin, not knowing what or if he would get a reply.

Than a week a letter a return letter came in the mail. It was mailed anonymously and contained a real life picture of a middle aged man with a large beard. In the bottom corner there was an autograph scribbled. The letters spelled G-O-D.

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