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Post Office

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It was perhaps fitting that the strange grey people and the weird hornless others thought nothing more than to assume your can town was a silly, childish activity. Better they didn't know the reasoning behind your desires for a perfect democracy and world, where no one is subject to the rule of tyrants.

They didn't need to know it wasn't so much a fun, playtime activity as they thought it was. Sure, it was certainly that as well...but more than anything, it was a catharsis.


The weird female with the purple eyes and the bitter-tasting beverage pointed to a can structure below that had the painted words "Post Office" on it. As she did, she wobbled and suddenly lost balance.

You almost shrieked as you ran to catch her from the fall, before she crushed the very important post office with her body weight.

"Ohhhhh," the human said, as if suddenly realizing what just happened. "That wash vry nice of you, Mishter Mayo. What, a, gentlemen!"

You didn't need to be very bright to know she just made a long series of gramatical errors in that sentence, but you didn't feel the need to point it out to her as she got out of your arms and stumbled away to another part of the town. She was adamant about helping you relocate can town, and some help was better than no help.

Even if she almost crushed the most important aspect of can town.

You still remembered her. No, not the purple-eyed human--the white carapace. The one you once bowed before as your monarch. She who was soenthused and passionate about mail.

She who convinced you of its worth.

She said mail was the pinnacle of democracy and liberty--the written word or object travelling far and wide to reach its destination. That, she said, was the proof of a society capable of reason, civility, edification, justice, and liberty. When people could write letters to each other to solve conflict and not fight wars...that was the shining pinnacle of humanity, she said.

She inspired you. She was someone who understood the principles of democracy. She knew that a society could exist without barbarism and violence.

...Or, at least, she believed it was. You're not so sure she would say the same anymore, or if she would even be alive to say it. You like to think she would be--according to the others, a white, flying dog dropped you off to be revived, and even though it seemed unlikely, you just knew it had to be her. But would she be alive now? You don't know the answer to that as much as you don't know if she had become disillusioned.


The slurring purple-eyed female with orange robes caught your attention with the butchering of your self-instituted "Mayor" title. You looked at her to see she her holding a can as she sat before the toppled city hall.

She frowned. "I'm sho sorry...."

She seemed upset at her toppling city hall. It hurt you to see her upset, so you gave her a thumbs up and smile.

To show her it was alright--these things happen.

At this, she smiled and began picking up the cans, though you were honestly not too worried. You knew the city hall was not the pinnacle of democracy. Important, yes...but the most important aspect was a functional and efficient post office.

Perhaps it was an impossible dream. Perhaps it would always be nothing more than a catharsis, to create a fictional society where everyone lives happily and in harmony, with no war.

But it was better than nothing.