My paper shakes with excitement as I’m drawn out of the dirty pocket and into the midsummer light. My perfect envelope with gleaming seal glows with pride. As I’m dropped into the post box, I only have thoughts for the journey ahead: I’m going to Australia!

I lay back on my bed of parcels and think of everything to come: the excitement of the post office, the thrill of flying, and the delight of the person who opens me. I am awoken from my daydream by a hand reaching down to grab me. The last thing I see is the back of a grimy van and the doors slamming shut.

I wake up in a room with conveyer belts stretching across the floor. The sound of whirring machines fills the air, and I almost jump out of my envelope as I am whizzed to the other side of the room and into a heap of post. From there I am transferred to another van.

I arrive at a massive building bustling with families. I recognise it as an airport where you fly on strange metal birds that humans call planes. My fellow letters and I are shoved into a dark compartment. A few minutes later I hear voices of people boarding the plane, then we take off!

I finally hear the thump of wheels that means we’ve landed and a human in bright orange opens the hatch to pack us off into another van. As the Australian countryside flashes by, my excitement grows. We stop and the driver picks me up and knocks on the door. I shake with glee as the door opens. But my happiness switches to despair when the man at the door says, “That’s not for me, mate!”