The Letter: part One
I’ve been dragging my feet, I’ve been saying this is coming and then putting it off for weeks at a time. Frankly, sharing my writing is terrifying. It’s time to stop letting my fears control me. I had the idea to do short writing exercises via writing prompts to help me get myself into better habits, but also to use as blog content to put myself out there.
So without further ado, here it is, my very first post.
The Prompt
The arrival of a letter, email, or package. The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield opens in this way.
I check the mail for the first time in a week. I only check it that often because well, what actually comes through the mail anymore anyway? It’s called snail mail for a reason. Communicating through the mail is a rarity, now it is done through phone calls, texts, and emails. Bills are automatically paid through your online accounts. Even most advertising is done through the internet, spam sent to your email, ads scrolling through Facebook, or pop-ups when you’re trying to read an article. Or they are subliminally pushed through entertainment, they made sure that the Tesla emblem was visible when the actor got in it. So, you see, I do not need to check the mail very often.
I throw on my slides and make my way outside. As soon as I close the door a surprisingly frigid breeze whips around. Odd, considering it’s the middle of July. It’s gone as quick as it came, and I quickly forget about it as I make my way down my walk. It’s a shockingly quiet day on the block, there are no neighbors out mowing the lawn. No children out riding bikes or drawing on the sidewalk with chalk. I carefully open the small black metal door, it creeks as rust rubs against itself. I’m always so cautiously aware that at any moment a spider could make my mailbox home.
Oh shit! Just as I think it, a large black fuzzy creature scuttles out from the shadows. It freezes staring into my soul, deciding my fate. Quick as lighting, it moves towards me.
I start going through this weekly junk haul when I notice a green envelope that catches my eyes. What new scheme have the car companies come up with now I think at first, half expecting to see the words, YOU’VE BEEN APPROVED, glaring back at me. This feels different though. It feels cold to the touch, but it’s the middle of the hottest day so far this year. It looks old too, worn paper deep green in color, just a little rough texture to it. Not like the gleaming processed paper we buy today. I hold it in my hands as goosebumps prickle my skin. I feel something behind my ear like someone wants to whisper in my ear. But when I turn around, I’m still alone.
The envelope is addressed to me, Raven Marsh, but there’s no address for me. Additionally, there’s no return address or stamp either. Turning the envelope over, I notice that it is sealed with wax. Black wax was pressed with a stamp to imprint a crest I’d never seen before. It looks like the death card from a Tarot deck. Sliding under the lip I break the seal and open the envelope. Inside is a piece of paper, ivory in color, and similar to the envelope, coarse with age. I don’t want to open the paper. I can’t explain it, but I don’t want to see what it has to say. I momentarily considered throwing it away, but curiosity wins over logic. As it usually does with me, I always must know everything.
The script on the letter is gorgeous, written in the blackest ink, in billowing cursive. My breath catches, there are only five words written on this paper. Number words that have changed my life. I had no idea at the time that those five words would lead to my death.
Raven Marsh,
Incipit nunc finis.
