Surreal love story of sorts. Though maybe "love story" isn't the best phrase.
Patricia Morgan had grown into a fine young woman. By the age of twenty, she had become well-known for her equestrian talent, having won seven national horseriding championships and at least seventeen lesser challenges. Indeed, horses and their ilk held a special place in her heart. Fame was not something she relished, though, and tried to keep a low profile as a very minor celebrity. Even so, she had regularly appeared on the covers of magazines and had also made a number of television appearances, often being interviewed about her life, family and career. She would gladly divulge information on these topics, yet there was still one subject she was a little less open on:
"Is there a special boy in your life?"
Patricia was consistently hesitant to speak about such matters. Her mother had raised her to believe that only true love was worth her effort, yet she had never actually attempted to seek it anywhere. She believed it would turn up when it wanted to, and she would be swept off her feet by a charming hero, reside a fairy-tale life in a faraway castle and overall live happily ever after. She herself had doubts about such things, but never actually said so. Interviewers had come to be familiar with the deep crimson blush and timid flicking of her bangs that appeared whenever she was questioned on the opposite gender, as well as the slight stutter and nervous squeak in her throat. These had become almost characteristic traits of hers, somewhat to her embarassment.
"I...I d-don't feel the n-need t-to *squeak* discuss...th-th-that..."
The interviews tended to finish shortly after that, so as not to upset the girl too much. And yet, whenever she left the studio, she would look up to the sky and wonder if her love really was out there, waiting for her.
-----
Evan hated his job. It was something he wouldn't actually like to say out loud, but in the recesses of his mind, he knew it was a waste of his time. Every morning he'd arrive at the building, somebody would hand him a box, he would tie the box to his bicycle and he would deliver the package to its recipient. This was his lot in life, day in, day out. He had resigned himself to this duty for the rest of his life. At least it put bread on the table.
This day, however, he was summoned by the man in charge of the delivery company, a one Edgar Johnson. Many of the workers held their boss in contempt, but the truth was, he was a very generous man. It was just that his generosity was invariably inwardly focused. He could have won a medal for his charity towards himself. He was seated at his desk when Evan arrived in, fingers already steepled and eyes already focused on the young man.
"You wanted to see me, sir?"
"Ah, Evan, good to see you. Sit down."
Evan obliged and procured a seat from the corner of the room. He sat himself down on the opposite side of his boss's desk, feeling small and insignificant against Mr. Johnson's cold stare.
"I have a package for you to deliver," said Mr. Johnson.
Evan looked about the room, checking for any hidden cameras. At last, when he deemed the room safe, he turned back to his boss. "Er, yeah. That's what I do. That's what I've been doing for two years now, sir."
"I'm quite aware of that. However, I have a very special package for you to deliver."
Evan frowned. "Special?"
"Oh, yes." Mr. Johnson leaned back in his chair and picked up a box that lay behind his desk. He dropped the box on the table and pointed a finger at the name written on the side:
PATRICIA MORGAN
Evan blinked. He led a life ignorant of who's-who and what's-what, and as such had no idea who Patricia Morgan was. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Mr. Johnson, who knew what he was going to ask.
"Patricia Morgan is the daughter of the wealthy Morgan family and the heir to their fortune," Mr. Johnson explained, "She's also a renowned horserider. Don't understand why, I never saw the appeal in those four-legged fiends." He stopped himself, lest he embark on a rant, and returned to the subject. "At any rate, you're going to deliver this package to the Morgan estate and you're going to do it with all the speed you can muster with those scrawny legs of yours."
Evan shrank into his seat as his boss's tone took on a form similar to that of a drill sergeant barking orders. "Yes sir. But, er...why me, sir?"
"Because, Butler, you're the fastest courier in this company! If we can please the Morgans with our delivery, there's a chance they'll give us some...you know, help with the money."
"Financial aid?" Evan suggested meekly. His boss snapped his fingers.
"Yeah, that's it! Hell knows we need the money."
Evan nodded, his gaze constantly shifting to the door. The sooner he could leave, the better. Without a word, Mr. Johson dumped the box into Evan's hands.
"Alright, get to deliverin'. And remember, we need that money!"
Evan nodded once again and, holding the package close to his chest, scurried out the door like a frightened mouse. Mr. Johson watched him go, and once he had left, set about polishing a gold trophy he kept beneath his desk.
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to me.