Fiction: The Letter

by theletterwriterXD

I sat outside the house, swinging comfortably on the porch swing my dad built two years ago. It was cold outside but I refused to wear a coat. I wanted to experience the full blast of nature. I lay me head back on the wooden back rest and began pumping with my legs. I didn’t exert much effort because I only wanted to swing slowly. I closed my eyes, relaxing with the soft rhythm, but opened them suddenly due to a sudden surge of anxiety. I watched the slowing drizzle of the rain and shivered slightly as a cool breeze passed by. I would have been in my bed at that moment, comfortably huddled under piles of cloth with a nice thick book, but for a reason I could not explain I was there quietly suffering the abusive wind and the freezing rain. I jumped every hour, fearing I would miss something of importance. I looked at the mailbox again. I didn’t know why but I had the greatest expectation of receiving a letter. I glanced at the wet, concrete sidewalk hoping to see the woman with the postal bag. I wanted to see her smile and her wave as she stuffed the bills, my parents’ monthly journal, and the letter.



I wasn’t sure a letter would arrive, it rarely does, but I just felt it. I stupidly allowed myself to feel ‘it’, though I knew in doing so I’ve also made myself vulnerable to the sadness and disappointment the unsent letter does send. Most of my days have been ruined by such expectations. But because of the letters that do arrive, every memory of the past pain is forgotten…well until you know, it comes again. I suddenly snapped back to reality when I heard someone’s loud and fast footsteps, as if running. My heart beat faster and my level of anxiety flew like a rocket. I nearly fell of the swing, when a couple of little grade school girls came to sight. The rain had become stronger. But I didn’t leave, because apart from being patient, and paranoid, I was stubborn. In fact the thought of missing the mail aroused more dread than a petty storm. I felt stupid for feeling that way. I mean I knew the letter would arrive whether I waited for it or not. But I wanted to be there. I wanted to see it actually placed into the tin box. After reading so many books about conspiracy theories, I wanted to make sure that from the time the mail was delivered to the time I opened the mail box, its contents remained untouched. We never know what the government or secret organizations will do. We have to be careful. Now I began to argue with myself, should I be sensible and just go inside? Says rational me. Or should I stay out here and freeze? Says Ms. Stubborn. I stayed.



I stopped swinging now, as the cold was becoming too much. I placed my feet on the swing and began to hug my knees. This did little to warm me, but it calmed me down a great deal. So much so that suddenly the thought of no letter didn’t matter so much. Of course when I heard the sound of boots stomping over puddles, saw the smile and the wave, I forgot the previous relief. I waited for her to be out of sight before I shakily approached the mailbox. I opened it slowly and stood for a few seconds in front of the now exposed documents.



I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until I let out a low sigh as I entered the house. It felt good to be warm again. I placed the letters on the mahogany table in the middle of the living room. I wasn’t ready to read them yet. I went into the kitchen and began making myself a sandwich. I was thinking the whole time what if it wasn’t there?



After nervously swallowing the last morsel of my bread and butter I went into the living room. I sat in the sofa and stared at the envelopes for a while. Okay this is it. I grabbed the stack and saw that the first one was a wedding invitation, and then came three bills, a magazine, and many other papers. There was no letter. I didn’t bother to look through the stack again because even though I had waited I already knew this would happen. I climbed up the stairs and entered my room. I sat on my desk and turned on my Pokémon lamp. I got out a clean sheet of paper and began to write a letter. And once again I must be the first to send, not the first to reply.