Runner-up in the 1st Annual Geist Literal Literary Postcard Story Contest.
Dear God, it’s horrible! Why hasn’t any help been sent? It’s three days we’ve been trapped down here and it doesn’t seem like anyone out there even cares. Hasn’t it been on the news? Please, as soon as you can, let the authorities know that downtown Toronto has been struck by a giant baseball, presumably from outer space. We were walking on Front Street and it came down almost right on our heads, it was a mile wide if it was a foot. We’re trapped under the remnants of what I think is the CBC headquarters with two Japanese couples and a hot dog vendor. We’ve been living off of hot dog condiments but they are running out fast. Please send help!
I’m not optimistic that you will receive this message, as I can’t imagine that the post office could be operating in the anarchy I hear outside. I’m going to try to stick my arm out and attach this note to one of the feral dogs that comes around a few times a day to steal our onions and bacon bits. No doubt this will result in my wrist and hand being bitten, so please tack a penicillin request onto the general help order you send out.
Love always, Terri P.S. Say hi to Derek and the twins and make sure Mittens is taking her foot medicine.