In the year of 1938, an 8-year old girl by the name of Rosie Patterwinkle was sent to spend the summer with her grandparents in New York City due to business commitments of her parents. One blazing, muggy Sunday afternoon, Rosie was asked by her grandfather to travel by foot to Mr. Grinby’s post office to pick up a package sent in his name. Respectfully obeying her grandfather’s simple request, Rosie set off on her journey to the old man’s office.
Cheerfully skipping along the light grey sidewalk of downtown New York, Rosie listened to the soft vroom of the cars alongside her, the murmurs of conversation from the passersby, and the joyful sound of children laughing with glee. Passing by a small bakery, the sweet smell of warm bread and delicious pastries wafted out into the outdoor air, nearby housemaids hung up clean clothes to dry to in the bright, sizzling sun, and at Central Park children played hop-scotch and tag in the cool, lime green grass. As she rounded the corner, a cool, summer breeze began to sweep across her cheek, just then she looked up to a dark, brown sign that in green lettering read ‘Grinby’s Postal Office’.
“Here I am”, Rosie whispered to herself. With her right arm she reached up to ring the doorbell, but before she could press in the small, white button a strong gust of wind reached out and whirled her to another dimension; another time. And forevermore a dark, black shadow of her remains graffitied onto the front of Grinby’s postal office.
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