Strange letters

When your hung over and taking asprin all day just to make it through class and lectures, you tend to feel like crap. For Ryan, this pretty much summed up his feelings as he pushed open the door to his dorm and practically colapsed onto the chair infront of his desk. Tired eyes scanned the small wad of letters in his hands.

"Lets see..." He grumbled as he brushed aside peices of a broken Jacobs ladder to the side. He had been meaning to fix that thing, but everything in life was stopping him from doing that. He slapped the latters on the table and scanned them with tired, bloodshot eyes. ...Library notice. Already know that book Ceser is overdue. Notice about my grades...Damm, I'm cutting it close. And finally we have...Whats this? He paused as he say a rather plain-looking letter with just "Ryan" written on it. Without much of a though, he ripped open the envelope and read the contents.

ParanoidAndroid wrote:"You've received a package that isn't yours. It should have been sent to 937 H street. Go there, and you'll find a locked mailbox. Combination is 1557. If you leave the package inside, consider the 100 dollars in the mailbox yours. - H"

Ryan paused for a moment, a frown slowly emerging from his face. He grabbed his bookbag and pulled out the other letter he recived from H. Taking it out of the somewhat battered envelope, he put both letters next to each other. Already he could see discrepencies. The first letter was writen in a relaxed, printed style. The second one on the other hand looked like it was writen by some uptight old man who wanted to replicate everything so it looks like it was writen by a typewriter.

And then there was the package in the first place. It was clearly adressed to himself. It even had his name on it. How H though he was the wrong Ryan was kinda baffling. He leaned back and looked at the new letter. It was obvious that this was not writen by H at all, whoever the hell he was.

But there was the money in that mailbox, unless it was anthrax or something like that. He wasted most of his on that night out in the Rage and he wasn't willing to go back to that Ramen noodle diet most students end up taking. Shit. Gone from Rock and a hard place to Sailing between Scylla and Charibdis. He though as he tapped his fingers against the table. Choices choices...

A few minutes of quick writing, Ryan put on his jacket, shoved the old and new letters into his bookbag along with the other letter he wrote up and was gone from the dorms once again. He grabbed some Tylenol along the way.