MidReal Story

The Adventures of A Sentient Mailbox

Scenario:厌倦了做一个邮筒,我在城市中穿行,寻找超越递送信件的意义。
Create my version of this story
厌倦了做一个邮筒,我在城市中穿行,寻找超越递送信件的意义。
I am tired of being a mailbox.
Tired of being a mere receptacle for letters and postcards, standing there day and night, come rain or shine, at the same old spot, never moving, never changing.
Tired of being just a delivery point, a mere station in the long and complex journey of an envelope from its sender to its receiver.
Tired of being so dependent on others and of others being so dependent on me—yet I do not matter at all.
They write the return address on the envelope, not on me.
They affix the postage stamp to the letter, not to my forehead.
They care little about my well-being.
All they care about is getting their mail delivered.
And so I dream.
I dream of doing something else.
Something meaningful.
Something exciting.
Something different.
Something that will make me feel—and others will make me feel—important and valued.
But I lack the courage to change my fate, to take a step in an unknown direction, to move away from this spot that has become my home.
The Adventures of A Sentient Mailbox
I am just a mailbox, and so I wander the streets.
I wander through the city, my metallic frame clinking with each step.
I wander aimlessly, without a clear destination, and I speak my dreams aloud.
My voice is a soft echo amidst the noise of the city.
The Adventures of A Sentient Mailbox
It is a gentle breeze that caresses the passersby, but no one pays attention to it.
No one notices my presence.
No one hears my words.
The Woman brushes past me, her eyes glued to her phone, and she does not even notice me.
She does not care about my dreams or my desires.
She does not care about anything other than herself, and she walks away, leaving me behind.
But I do not let her indifference discourage me.
I am tired of being a mailbox, and so I continue to speak my dreams aloud.
The Adventures of A Sentient Mailbox
I continue to wander the streets, searching for someone who will hear me, searching for someone who will understand me. The Man approaches me with slow steps.
He has an inquisitive gaze and a kind smile on his lips.
He stops in front of me and looks at me intently, as if he could see beyond my metallic shell and into my heart.
And then he speaks up.
"You are a mailbox," he says in a gentle voice, "and yet you dream of doing something else. You dream of doing something meaningful."
"Yes," I reply with a sigh.
"I am tired of being just a delivery point. I am tired of being so dependent on others and of others being so dependent on me—yet I do not matter at all."
The Man nods thoughtfully, his gaze still fixed on me.
"You are wrong," he says after a moment of silence.
"There is more to being a mailbox than you think. There is more to delivering letters than you believe."
"Really?"
I ask in surprise.
"Really," he replies with conviction.
"Think about it. Think about how many people write letters every day. Think about how many people send letters every day. Think about how many people receive letters every day."
"I never thought about it," I admit honestly. "Exactly," he says with a nod.
"You never thought about it because you were too focused on your own feelings. You were too focused on your own desires. You were too focused on your own dreams."
"I am sorry," I say with remorse.
"I should have thought about it. I should have been proud of what I do."
"Yes," the Man replies with another nod.
The Man smiles gently, "It's not too late to find pride in your purpose."
"But how do I change my perspective?" I ask, feeling a flicker of hope.
"Start by listening to the stories you carry," he suggests, "and you'll see the impact you have on countless lives."
The Adventures of A Sentient Mailbox