Prompt: One day you open the mailbox and find a heavy, gilded envelope. You break the thick golden wax seal bearing a fancy insignia and pull out an invitation….
Piece:
I had never planned on this profession. Pilferer of packages. Looter of letters. Marauder of mail.
Felon.
I had loftier goals. I was a smart cookie. But I just hadn’t been able to catch a break.
Until now.
Today, it seemed, my luck had changed. The sun seemed to shine more brightly, though I masked up and pulled my hoodie further over my head as I stepped out the door. You could never be too careful, especially when your fortunes were on the rise.
I’d been studying the mansion on Mammon Avenue for some time. Amazon delivered multiple packages a day to that address. It was undoubtedly a treasure trove just waiting to be tapped for valuable resales on Facebook Marketplace.
I usually hid in the bushes just outside the gate, notebook in hand to jot down the times of various deliveries. On this day, the mail truck pulled up at its usual time.
I don’t usually mess with mail trucks. Pilfering from Prime is one thing, risking federal prison is a whole other ballgame that I don’t play.
But on this day — well, on this day, something unusual happened.
The mailman pulled up to the gate, reached into the crate by his side and pulled out a small packet of letters. But just then, his cell phone rang.
He made a perfunctory greeting, eyes still scanning the letters in the crate. “What’s up, mom? I’m at work.” A pause, and then his face slowly turned white. He dropped the letters with a stunned look on his face. He doubled over and began to sob! Great heaving sobs which shook the truck.
“Poor chap,” I thought, though I didn’t dare come out to comfort him. But my eye caught the gleam of something bright. The packet of letters, which he had dropped in surprise, had slid off the crate and out the open side door of the truck, landing in the grass below. One of the letters appeared to be — were my eyes mistaken? The letter appeared to be, for lack of a better word, gilded.
I couldn’t resist the intense curiosity that rose up within me. The mail carrier was still hunched over the steering wheel crying. I slid a foot out from the bush and snagged the letter.
It was heavy, very heavy. The paper was thick and smooth and creamy white. The edges were dipped in gold. The envelope was sealed with a thick waxy stamp which bore a fancy insignia. It was addressed to Monsieur Le Comte de Morcef.
I gingerly cracked open the waxen seal and pulled out a heavy, scented card, again with gilded edges. It smelled like one thing to me — money.
I quickly perused the contents of the letter. The honor of the recipient’s presence was requested in attendance at a masked ball thrown by the Count of Monte Cristo. The guests were to come attired according to the theme of “Pastoral Pleasures.”
I thought quickly. This could be my ticket out! I could go, disgusted as the Comte de Morcef in disguise as a shepherd. Undoubtedly, all the richest and most fashionable names of Paris would be in attendance. A few quick swipes at jewels and pocket watches, and I would be a rich man!
I immediately signed and sealed the RSVP, and, as the mail carrier was still sobbing, I dropped this letter into the crate marked “incoming mail.” Now all I had to come up with was a shepherd’s costume….
2 weeks later…
I was ready. It hadn’t been hard to find peasants clothing. I picked up an entire suit of pastoral clothing second hand at the bazaar on the Rue Saint Germain.
I was in high spirits. This was my lucky break. Tonight would be the night when I’d rise out of common thievery and become a respectable gentleman of fortune. Sure, some of my fellow party goers would be a little less rich when they left the party, but surely they could spare a few francs to help an honest Frenchman make his way into society?
As I ascended the marble steps of the mansion of Monte Cristo, a doorman in embroidered livery approached. “Your name, monsieur? So that I may announce your arrival?”
“Tell them that the Comte de Morcef has arrived.”
“Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Right this way, sir.” And with a sweeping bow he ushered me up the steps and into the entryway.
“His Excellency, Monsieur Le Comte de Morcef!” He announced with an officious air.
Another servant immediately appeared from a side door, bowing obsequiously. “Monsieur de Morcef! You do us great honor. Please, enter through this special door. It leads to the balcony. From there you will be able to make a truly grand entrance down the main staircase. It is for our most distinguished guests.”
I chuckled with importance. This would be my night!
I followed the servant through the doorway on the right into a dark passageway. As the door clicked shut behind me, I was suddenly seized from behind and blindfolded. I heard a cold voice from the far end of the room.
“Ah, Fernand. Finally. We meet again, but this time I am free and you are bound.”
A cold chill shook me from head to toe.
“This, this is a horrible mistake,” I stammered. “Please, I am not Morcef….”
The End….
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What we were reading at the time:
The Count of Monte Cristo, of course
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