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MidReal Story
The Wanderings of A Sentient Mailbox
Anonymous
Jan 29
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。
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Mailbox
restless, and imaginative. Feeling confined by his duties, he dreams of exploring the world beyond his fixed location. He longs for freedom and adventure, often imagining himself as a traveler or a sailor. Despite his limitations, he finds solace in watching people and imagining their stories.
The Old Man
weary, and mysterious. His presence is a constant in Mailbox's life, as he often sleeps nearby. The old man's appearance and behavior suggest a life of hardship and struggle. Despite this, he seems to possess a quiet dignity that intrigues Mailbox.
The Young Woman
vibrant, and carefree. Her presence briefly captivates Mailbox as she walks by with her boyfriend. Her laughter and joy are infectious and make him feel envious of her freedom to live life fully.
I am tired of being a mailbox.
Tired of standing in the same spot day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year.
Tired of being a mere vessel for the delivery of letters and packages.
Tired of being a fixed point in a world that is constantly on the move.
Sometimes I imagine what it would be like to be free to go where I want, when I want.
To not be bound by my post in the ground.
To be able to just pick up and go.
To travel and see all that there is to see in this world.
To be able to do and experience everything that I can imagine.
But for now, I remain a sentinel on the corner of the street, watching as life passes me by.
The sun rises over the towering skyscrapers to the east, casting a golden glow over the bustling metropolis.
People begin to stir, emerging from their high-rise apartments to start their daily routines.
They shuffle past me on their way to grab a cup of coffee before heading off to work.
Their faces are worn, their eyes red from lack of sleep, their footsteps dragging.
But then I see her.
A young woman, with a smile on her face and a spring in her step.
She laughs as she walks down the street, her voice carrying on the breeze.
Her joy is infectious, and I find myself smiling along with her.
She is carefree, unencumbered by the burdens of life.
She is living in the moment, enjoying every second of her existence.
And I am stuck here, watching as she passes me by.
I am jealous of her freedom, of her ability to live life to the fullest.
I want to be like her, to experience all that there is to offer in this world.
But for now, I remain a mailbox, standing stationary on the corner of the street.
The old man stirs from his slumber, his eyes slowly opening as he takes in his surroundings.
He stretches his arms and yawns, his joints creaking with age.
He looks around at the people passing by, their faces a blur as they hurry off to start their day. The old man gets up from his bench and begins to walk down the street, his footsteps slow and deliberate.
He looks like he hasn't showered in a while, his clothes tattered and worn.
His hair is long and unkempt, hanging down over his eyes.
He carries a small bag with him, filled with all his possessions.
The old man stops at a street corner and looks around, taking in his surroundings.
He glances up at the tall buildings that tower above him, their peaks reaching for the sky.
He looks like he hasn't eaten in a while, his stomach growling with hunger.
The old man continues on his way, walking down the street and disappearing around the corner.
As I watch him go, an idea forms in my mind.
I can't just sit here and watch life pass me by anymore.
I need to do something about it.
I need to take action and make a change. The sun rises higher in the sky as I stand here, watching the people pass by on their way to work or school or wherever they may be going.
The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts through the air from the café across the street, enticing me with its delicious aroma.
I can almost taste it on my metal tongue as I imagine sipping on a steaming cup of joe.
But alas, I am just a mailbox and cannot indulge in such pleasures.
The sound of laughter catches my attention as a group of children walk past me on their way to school.
"Hey, mister mailbox," one of the children says, stopping to pat my side.
"Do you ever wish you could come with us?" another child asks, her eyes wide with curiosity.
"If I could, I'd race you all to the playground and back," I reply, surprising even myself with the words.
The children giggle and continue on their way, leaving me to ponder the possibilities.
The old man shuffles along, his footsteps slow and deliberate.
He looks like he hasn't showered in a while, his clothes tattered and worn.
His hair is long and unkempt, hanging down over his eyes.
He carries a small bag with him, filled with all his possessions.
As night begins to fall, the city lights flicker to life, casting a warm glow over the bustling streets.
The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts through the air from the café across the street, enticing me with its delicious aroma.
I can almost taste it on my metal tongue as I imagine sipping on a steaming cup of joe.
But alas, I am just a mailbox and cannot indulge in such pleasures.
The sound of laughter catches my attention as a group of people walk past me on their way home from work.
Their smiles are contagious, and I find myself smiling along with them.
As they disappear around the corner, I am left standing alone once again.
But something about this moment feels different.
A strange sensation washes over me, like a tingling in my metal bones.
It's as if I am being called to action, to do something more than just stand here and watch the world pass by. The memory of the young woman's laughter echoes in my mind, her carefree spirit inspiring me to take a chance.
I focus my thoughts on her, picturing her smile and her infectious laugh.
Suddenly, a surge of energy runs through me, like a jolt of electricity coursing through my metal veins.
My exterior begins to soften, reshaping into something new and unfamiliar.
I feel myself growing taller and stronger, my metal body transforming into flesh and bone.
I look down at my hands in wonder as they morph into something more human-like.
I am no longer just a mailbox; I am something more.
I am the Avenger.
