#thin dad

He climbed through the broken screen of a TV. Glass sliced his hands and knees. Could it smell blood? He curled up, held his breath, made no noise. Please, please go away.

Silence.

But then there was him. He screamed in the darkness

𓁹 𓁹 𓁹 𓁹 𓁹 𓁹 𓁹 𓁹 𓁹 𓁹

The Thin Man opened his eyes. Yet another strange, strange dream to file away. At times they felt more like memories. But that was impossible. He needed to stop fretting over them. If they were important, then he would have remembered them better. If they were important, the Tower would have told him so.

No, this was just his vivid imagination running away again. But that was simply part of what made him a good Broadcaster. He showed the citizens of the Pale City what they needed to see. He made them happy. That his job- part of it anyways.

A job that could, as loathe as he was to admit it, be terribly boring at times. He couldn't daydream all the time, so when he found himself back in the real world he didn't have much to do except stare at the dull concrete wall, smoke a cigarette, or pick at the wood of his chair.

Well, sometimes the Tower would send him out on errands. Find that, fetch this, etcetera etcetera. Nothing too exciting, though he'd once he found a little hat. It had been hanging on a hook in an apartment, undisturbed and in wonderfully good shape. It was green and made of felt with lace and feathers sewn on. It was far too small for him, but he pocketed it without a second thought.

But other than his very occasional business trips, each day that passed by in the city was the same as any other. Yes, a block of crooked apartment building would collapse into the street every once in a while, or a few viewers would end up offing themselves in their desperate pursuit of a working TV screen, but nothing ever really changed. Most days it rained, some days it didn’t, but the sky was always the same unyielding shade of corpse grey. Suffice to say, the city had its routine, and the Signal Tower was content to keep it that way. They did not like change, and They detested anything new, for the new paved the way to the very worst thing of all, the-

"Û̴̦̤̈́̒̒̋̽͒̈́̕͝N̵̙̰̒̉̆̈́̆̓͗E̷̪͎̙̘̖̺̫͖̟͊X̶̨͍̝̠̜̹͙̣͙̃̓̉̅̊͝P̷̡̣͖̬̩͋̉̒̌̒̔̈̽̍̕͘͝E̸̳̣͉̣̽̈C̷͚͂̑̇̋͐̇̎͑̿̽̋̋͝͝Ţ̷͉̪̙̰̣̘̱͎͓̗̥͗̓̈͂̏̇̕Ẻ̴̳̂D̵̛͍̫̬̹̮̪͈̜̗̥̈́̑̌̅̏̋̇͘͝ͅ."

The Tower spoke with the agglomeration of a thousand voices, all of them talking directly into the man's ear. Hot sparks of static raced up his spine, snapping him back into rigidly perfect posture. His mind was seized with harsh zap, as though a hand of pure electricity was reaching into his skull. The Tower was demanding his full attention.

He winced but didn't resist as They dragged his gaze to a specific screen. One on the small side, displaying a fuzzy, flickering view of a decrepit highway at the edge of the city.

So what? Just as the man was preparing to dare to scrape up an ounce of annoyance, movement on the TV caught his attention. Something was coming up the road, fast. The sorry little screen revealed few details as it neared, but he could make out the shining beams of a pair of headlights, along with the large, boxy, white vehicle they were attached to. Seeing a working automobile was… surprising, to put it mildly. The city was chocked full of broken, rusty cars, trucks, and buses of all shapes and sizes. Not a single one of them had ever cranked up. Well, not since their owners decided that tuning in to the Broadcast was more important than getting to work, or taking the kids to school, or going shopping, or… anything else, really (not that they were wrong- not at all!).

And where could they be driven, anyway? The streets of the city were in constant upheaval. They bent and cracked, stretched and shrunk, split and rejoined, all at a moment's notice. Mountains of garbage and debris and bodies piled up in the middle of roads while wide, bottomless canyons waited to swallow up anything that came too close to the edge. The Pale City was many things, but easily-navigable was not among them.

So it was a mystery how this vehicle, hailing from outside the city, intended to do just that. It sped past the small screen, entering into field of view of another a few seconds later. This screen was larger, its image sharper. The improved definition displayed more of the vehicle's features, the most prominent of which was the large, very official symbol of the Eye painted in black on its dented metal sides. Beneath it was text that was covered partially in mud, or that had perhaps been scratched off. Only the words "AUTHORITY" and "MAIL" remained clearly legible.

A mail truck, then? The Thin Man wondered who or what it could possibly be delivering to. Unless… well, he was a prominent resident of the city. The most prominent, if he did say so himself. It didn't seem too far-fetched that it could be here for him. The static electricity around him popped and crackled as he considered the idea. He couldn't help but be a bit excited- he'd never gotten mail before.

The truck wove deftly between the broken down cars and pit-like potholes, it's wiper blades working feverishly to keep the dark windshield clean. It was making steady headway into the city, until it at last came to an obstacle the Thin Man doubted it could overcome. His shoulders slumped. An apartment block had fallen into the street, transformed into a substantial wall of crumbled bricks and twisted rebar that blocked the way forward.

He observed its next move from a TV that had miraculously avoided destruction and was now wedged under the debris. The truck halted, then sat idling. Ruminating, even. Surely the driver saw that they were at an impasse.

The Thin Man expected it to turn around and search for an alternate route. He did not expect for the for the vehicle to begin growing. Metal groaned and creaked as the axles stretched upwards, higher and higher, ceasing only when the truck was as tall as the mass of scree in front of it. The thing looked like it was perched on four alarmingly skinny metal stilts. Then, because the situation wasn't already strange enough, one of the front wheels took a slow step, then another, and another, until it was picking it's way over the wreckage of the building, its metal legs moving in a way that was weirdly organic.

Just as it was about to clear the mess a back tire slipped, throwing the whole thing off balance. The Thin Man held his breath as it leaned, hoping it would catch itself, but it toppled, hitting the rubble hard and rolling down the rest of the slope. It came to a stop a considerable distance away, completely overturned. Its metal legs drew back in, curling up like a dead beetle.

Well, that was that. The Thin Man sighed, then relaxed his hands, realizing they had been clutching at his pant legs. It looked like he wouldn't be getting anything after all, since whoever was inside that thing was surely dead or dying. This was just another disappointment. He chided himself for ever getting his hopes up. When would he learn that good things simply weren't meant for him? This little non-adventure was over (not that it'd ever really begun).

The mail truck begged to differ, however. The man watched in fascination and confusion as the metal legs began to swing side to side, and the flipped truck rocked like, well, a beetle stuck on its back. Back and forth it went, until on about the sixth swing it succeeded in righting itself. Now solidly on its wheels again, the body shook itself, throwing off some of the dirt and mud acquired from its tumble. The truck returned to its journey, trundling merrily along, apparently none the worse for wear except for a few new dents and scratches.

Catching sight of it became easier and easier as it neared the center of the city, where televisions were scattered in abundance, like fleas sprung from an infested dog, until there were a dozen screens capturing its journey from one angle or another. Its intended destination had long ago become obvious. It was indeed headed to the Signal Tower, and, after successfully maneuvering over one final pile of slick rubble, was on the straightaway home stretch to its base.

"B̴͙̑̄̉R̸̟̔͊O̷̳͊̑A̷̫͖̫͐̚D̷̪͌C̶͎̀Ä̷͓́S̵̹̑T̴͙̭͔̿E̵̛̙͜R̴͈̒͝ͅ," the Tower rumbled, "Ĝ̴͔O̵̬͂ ̶̳͒C̵͉Ǫ̸̽Ĺ̷̩L̴̟̂Ę̶̓Ç̸̊T̸̯ ̵̬̆T̴̳̉Ȟ̵͉E̸̗͘ ̷̭͑P̵̡̕Ȏ̴̡S̸̮͝T̸̪̕." Brilliant pink light spilled in from a doorway that hadn't existed a moment ago.

The man's heart quickened. He rose slowly from his chair, bones and joints creaking in complaint. Oof. He tried to recall how long it'd been since he'd last stood on two feet. A few days? A week? He supposed it didn't really matter. It was probably the weather causing them to flare up again, anyways.

He strode through the new opening quickly, then teleported down past the many flights of the Tower, appearing at the bottom in a staticky flash that sent a few floating toys flying away from the sudden ripple in reality. The tall doors swung outwards, and a blast of cold, humid air rushed in that nearly blew the man's hat clear off his head. He pushed it back down, positioning it to sit low over his eyes, where it belonged. He peered out into the street. A thick wall of mist hung in the air, but it appeared that the worst of the rain had ceased for the time being. The man stepped out into the city to wait.

The only sound was the pitter-patter of rainwater dripping from the roofs and gutters of nearby buildings. The man fished through his inner pocket, fingers brushing past the little green hat as they sought out his pack of cigarettes. He freed one, lit it with a spark, and took a deep drag.

Of course in the Pale City, the air also thrummed with a different kind of noise. The signal washed over him, through him; he felt each crest of it prickle at his skin, the steep decline as it faded briefly into a trough, then the powerful upsurge as it rose to crest once more. Again and again and again the waves vacillated, drenching the city until no alley, no street corner, no sidewalk crack was left dry of it.He took a puff, then flicked off the ash.

Like the ocean. The thought came unbidden. The Thin Man had of course seen the ocean- its sluggish waves lapped endlessly at the city's side- but he'd never touched or been upon it. Yet, somehow, he was certain that the signal and the sea felt nearly the same. It made a sort of sense, he thought, tossing the cigarette butt to the wet pavement where it extinguished with a pitiful hiss. It was easy to drown in both.

The sound of a rattling engine snapped him out of his musing. The pair of headlights appeared, their light dampened by the fog. They drew closer and closer, until at last the truck emerged from the haze. Whoever was inside must have caught sight of him too, because the truck adjusted its course until it was aimed directly for him. And it wasn't slowing down.

The Thin Man prepared to teleport out of the way, but the insane driver suddenly sent the vehicle into a squealing drift. It slid to a stop a few feet away from him, teetering precariously over its driver side wheels for a moment before dropping back to all four with a ground-shaking CLUNK.

Up close the mail truck appeared normal, if in rough shape. The side facing him had a large dent in the middle that he couldn't say had been there before its fall. Even so, the partially concave Eye insignia glared imperiously up at him, as though daring him to judge its driver's method of operation.

The door to the truck slid open. Hunching slightly, the Thin Man finally got his first look at the mysterious being within.Surprisingly, he appeared completely unscathed. He was pale, middle-aged, and wore a remarkably clean and well-pressed blue uniform (the Thin Man had to respect that- clothes make the man, as They say), with a postman's cap that overshadowed his eyes and bore a shiny brass badge in the same design as the Eye painted on his vehicle. Proportionately, his arms were unsettlingly long for his body, which the Thin Man supposed must make him especially excellent at sticking letters in mailboxes.

"Mr. Broadcaster!" the Mailman greeted with a wide grin. His teeth were straight and yellow, like old piano keys. "It's great to see you again pal, hope I didn't keep you standin' out here too long."

The Thin Man tilted his head, quite sure he'd never met this fellow before in his life. He must be referring to seeing him on TV.

"Boy, it sure is a pleasure to be back in the Pale City. Place is beautiful this time of year, ain't it? Just get a load of that fresh Spring air." The Mailman took a big breath, then was promptly forced to fight back a coughing fit. "Well," he choked, "maybe the big city ain't exactly the best place to get it." He thumped his chest a few times. "But hey, neither snow nor rain nor congestion can keep this swift courier down!

Though I'll admit, me n' the old girl-" he slapped the metal side of his vehicle "- had a bit of trouble gettin' through all the road work, but nothin' we couldn't handle. If I was worried about makin' deliveries, I'da been a comedian!" The Mailman snapped and wagged a finger gun at him.

The Thin Man blinked.

"Sheesh, tough crowd," the Mailman muttered out of the corner of his mouth. He cleared his throat. "Anyways, I'm here cause I got a letter for ya." The Mailman began rifling through the box of letters and packages in the seat next to him, but carried on with his one-sided conversation.

"Seems like a pretty important one too," he said, voice wry like he was about crack another joke. He lifted the box and peeked underneath, and then, apparently not having found what he was looking for, dropped it carelessly to the floorboard. "Now where did I put the darned thing?" The Mailman twisted in his seat to shove his head and arms into the letters and parcels that were crammed into the back of the truck, tossing out handfuls here and there as he searched. His cheery voice was muffled by the paper as he continued to chatter. "Don’t you worry pal, I've got it around here somewhere. I'll have it for you in just a jiffy! Ya know, that's the thing about delivering the mail these days, especially when it's from someplace like…"

The Thin Man suppressed a sigh and resisted the urge to tap his foot. Did this guy ever stop talking? He really wanted that letter. This mailman was lucky that he was dealing with someone as patient as himself.

"- a real pain in the tush getting to that mailbox-"

The man eyed the mail truck. Nothing seemed off about it. Must be some newfangled- wait, did that light just wink at him?

"-imagine my surprise when I am accosted by this-"

No, that had to have been his imagination. Was this guy still talking?

"-told her 'I'll see what I can do-'"

He let his attention drift back to that distant, muted place in his head where it liked to roost whenever he was awaiting something interesting (which was frequently).

"-all worth it for a smile like that-"

There were some new show ideas he really needed to run by the Tower. Love Amongst the Irises remained popular, but he couldn't help but feel it had run its course after the last season. But then again…

"- cute as a button, a real- Ah ha! Told ya I'd find it! Here you are, sir. Sir?"

No, no, it was time to pull it from the roster, replace it with something more exciting-

"Helloooo, Mr. Broadcaster!"

The Thin Man's focus shifted back to the present, where the Mailman was shoving a single envelope towards his face. Carefully, he took it between two bony fingers.

"Well, that's my job done here." The Mailman gave a salute. "I know you're probably even busier than me, so I'll leave you to it. See ya around, Mr. Broadcaster!" He shifted the gear stick and the engine roared (literally) as he floored the gas. The mail truck peeled off with a screech and a black cloud of exhaust. The Thin Man caught one last wave from the Mailman before he disappeared into the fog. The sounds of the truck echoed between the buildings for a few moments, then faded away, and the familiar, smothering blanket of quiet settled over the area once more.

The man studied the envelope. It was a simple, plain white, though nearly half of it was covered in a patchwork collage of postage stamps- surely more than had been strictly necessary. In its center, in clumsy, looping handwriting was scrawled:

TO MR. BRODCASTER

SIGNAL TOWER

PALE CITY

This really was for him? It was such a little thing in his hand, but suddenly so precious. Gingerly, he peeled it open, then scrunched his nose at a sudden wave of overpowering floral scent. Was that…perfume?

The paper felt thick and crisp, and the corners were embossed with Eyes, though these were fancy and elaborate and entangled with ivy. He folded the letter open, releasing an errant pinch of loose glitter that drifted onto his now formerly perfect black leather shoes. He grimaced. Lovely.

Inside the first thing that caught his eye was the large and obviously child-made drawing. Above it was a message the same messy script that was written on the envelope, though these letters appeared to have been written with glue and glitter. The words sparkled cheerfully beneath the light of the streetlamps:

YOU ARE HEAR BY INVITED

TO MY BIRTHDAY PAЯTY

IT WILL BE REALLY FUN AND

THEЯE WILL BE CAKE

SEE YOU THERE!!!

XOXOXO

The drawing was of a girl in a glittery green dress and a tall man in a suit and hat, presumably himself. Both were smiling and holding hands, while a tiered cake covered in candles sat in front of them. Colorful doodles of eyes and flowers surrounded them, filling up the rest of the space. Clearly, a lot of effort had been put into this.

But a child's birthday invitation? To say the man was confused would have been putting it lightly. Was this some prank being pulled by the Mailman? Who was this girl in the drawing? And perhaps the most important question of all, would he be going? There was no date or location listed (a bit of a glaring oversight, in his opinion), nor was there any return address on the envelope. But knowing there was a child out there, surely the Tower would want him to collect. Eventually she'd step in front of a transmitting screen, and then he would find her. That was the other part of his job, after all.

The Thin Man swiveled on his heels and walked back into the Signal Tower, wondering what They would make of everything. The doors shut behind him, leaving no sign that there had ever been a way out at all.