The Key

Mail.

Some people send it.
Some people reveive it.
I send it and receive it.

     Hi. My name is Ben. I’m not what you would call lonely, but I have few friends. I’m a carpenter. That’s cool huh? I work with hammers, nails, screws, and glue. HA! Just joking, I’m a baker. You know that bakery down the main street that leads you to the ocean? Yeah, I work there. It’s called Mainstreet Bakers. It’s an old fashioned kind of bakery. I actually don’t bake, I send mail. Like bills, fan letters (yes, fan letters), that kind of stuff. It’s kind of fun, because I work late and when the bakers go home, I take a few cookies. A boy needs his food, don’t judge me, yet.

   So one day I was sorting the letters, and I came across a letter that was kind of heavy for a letter. I’m not really supposed to open the mail, but I did anyway. When I opened the letter I found a key. Strange, I thought. It also contained a folded piece of paper that said MAP labled on the front. It also had a note, the note read:

     Dear Mainstreet Bakers,


     Even though this letter is addressed from Fine Sugar , it’s actually not from them. I’d rather not tell you who I am, for reasons. You must take the key, and map enclosed in this enveope and go to the place marked on the map. You might find this task difficult, but your bakery depends on it.




                                                                      Sincerely,


                                                                                 “John”



     Who’s John? I thought. As I unfolded the map, I realized it wasn’t a map of the town, it was a map from Texas. Texas? How can the bakery depend on something that’s in texas, If we’re in Canada? Weird, I thought. I took the key and put it on my keychain, and headed to see my boss. As I walked throught the dark, muggy hallway. I realized the door was locked. It usually isn’t locked. So I knocked on the door. He didn’t reply. I knocked again, but harder this time. No reply. So I walked right in. He was sleeping. Typical. He’d also turned off the lights. So your allowd to sleep, but I’m not? God, I want to quit. But course I can’t because I just had to oped that supid letter, I thought, I hate my life. Finally he wakes up, he looks embarassed.

     “Oh, umm. Hi, Ben. Can I help you?” He said, sleepily.

     “Yeah, Does this business have any connection to someone in Texas named ‘John’?” I asked, using the hand quotations when I said John.

     “Maybe. Why?” He was very quick on saying that…

     “Uh, because we got a letter from a Guy calling himself John, saying that I have to go to Texas with a key and map. And I don’t know what to do.” I pretended to start to cry, maybe he’ll feel bad for me.

     “Well then. You have to promise not to tell anyone about this. Our bakery is having money problems. This guy named Johnny took 10,00 dollars after I fired his 5 years ago. This John person is actually named Greg Peirce. He was one of my best friends. He tried to stop Johnny from taking the money, but he got shot in doing so. He’s too scared to get the money back, so he sent this letter to you. I tell him about all my new employees" He said, he was deffinatly worried.
     I thought for about two seconds before saying,
     “I’d be happy to help you.” Shit…
     “Why not,” he said, “your the only employee I got anyway. Just follow themap, and keep your cell phone on you al all times. Here,” He handed me a gun. “ learn how to use it.”
     "Oh god, a gun? Why a gun? Why not a knife? What if I accidentally shoot someone? What if I shoot myself?”
     “Weren’t you listening? Johnny has a gun. You might as well have one too.”

                                                                    ~

     When I got home, I wanted to tell my Mom and Step-dad that I had to go to Texas. I walked in the front door, and dropped my school bag on the floor. My mom hates that, but it’s instinctive.
     “MOM !!! GLENN!!! I’m home…Anyone home?”
     Oh well. I tried. I went into the kitchen to get a glass of strawberry milk. Evere since I was little, I’ve always hated strawberry milk. Until grade four. One day in grade four this fatt bully, Steven, forced me to drink strawberry milk or he’d kill me. So I did, and I liked it, but I didn’t tell him that. End of story.
     Anyway, I went over to the cupboard where we keep our strawberry syrup and I saw another note. Another one? Jezz, I thought.


Ben,
Went to get groceries back soon
Mom and glen.



Okay, I guess I’ll have to tell them at dinner.