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Saturday Flash Fiction #3 - Letters
Posted by The Red Devil
on
Saturday, October 18, 2008
in
Break my heart,
Flash Fiction,
Jaded and broken,
Writings
It has become a habit more than anything. It used to be a joke, an action that took her mind off things she didn't want to think of. She writes letters to no one in particular; sometimes she writes to her lost loves, to her mother, to her unborn children and to herself. She leaves these letters in small spaces in between bus seats, cracks on walls, on bus stop benches; practically anywhere she can.
Her letters were commentaries: a diary of her years/days/hours and of her internal life at that moment, captured in the minutest detail. It was a confessional. It was an escape plan.
It's symbolic that she squeezes these letters into these open spaces, as if filling the voids between with words that she cannot verbalize (even if she had a capacious vocabulary). She was no stranger to open spaces, to places full of unspoken words that begged to be released. Yet, all she can do is to fall silent and write these letters.
Her letters were commentaries: a diary of her years/days/hours and of her internal life at that moment, captured in the minutest detail. It was a confessional. It was an escape plan.
It's symbolic that she squeezes these letters into these open spaces, as if filling the voids between with words that she cannot verbalize (even if she had a capacious vocabulary). She was no stranger to open spaces, to places full of unspoken words that begged to be released. Yet, all she can do is to fall silent and write these letters.
