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Date Posted: 17:10:53 07/13/12 Fri
Author: JustGina
Subject: I haven't been here in YEARS, but I popped on and #3 tied in with a little something I threw together a few days ago. It's a little odd, but I thought it would be fun to throw out there>>>
In reply to: Myxtress 's message, "HOMEWORK! for May 6, 2012" on 16:01:22 05/06/12 Sun

I don't have a title, but it is for the writing prompt "Communication" Was I supposed to actually USE the word communication in the piece? Well. Enjoy!

____________________________________________________

A quiet knock disturbs the dust motes, whirling around the beam of light that has worked it's way through a bent slat in the ragged blinds. With a skreeck of warped wood, the door pushes open, shoving the piles of unopened mail that has been dropped through the flap– for months, by the look of it. A stockinged foot in a not-quite-sensible shoe further disturbs the arc of dirt left by the susseration of the door-swept pile of spam and junk mail, and possible nasty Internet viruses.

She steps into the room, wrinkling her nose against a dusty sneeze. Her heels clop loudly on the scraped floor as she surveys the small, abandoned space. There isn't much to see.. A scarred desk and cheap office chair, one small window, and a few scattered papers on the desktop. The draft bin holds a few half written emails, the trash bin a few more. The outbox has the yellowed look of letters written long ago, now forgotten.

She steps over to the pile on the floor, gracefully bending to sort through some of the letters. She rolls her eyes as she sees that her friend has had no shortage of offers from Big Beautiful Singles in Your Area! He had also been given a chance to Meet Gay Men! And deep discounts on all manner of Unmentionable Pharmaceuticals that make all sorts of Unlikely Claims. She has a chuckle over the frantic plea from his Romanian cousin who will gladly give him 90% of their multi-million dollar inheritance if he would only share his bank account number! She recieved the same letter from the same "cousin"! Her smile died on her lips as she saw the familiar titles of her own unopened missives. With a sigh, she left them where they lay and turned back toward the desk. She rummaged in her purse until she came out with a blue handkerchief, which she used to wipe the dust from the rickety chair, and sat down. The silence was complete, and uncomfortable. This space had been empty for some time, and it was as if the room couldn't quite figure out how to make space for the intruder.

She looked over the draft bin more carefully, hoping to see something with her own whimsical email address at the top, but there were only a few work related starts and a personal letter begun for someone with the address "leapin'lizards" that she did not lower her standards enough to sneak a peek at.

Absently holding the few unsent drafts, She wondered again why he had stopped writing to her. She had sent him several emails over the past few months, some silly, some newsy, and finally in confusion over his lack of response. There was the evidence on the floor with the junk mail. Even if this address had stopped reaching him, how could he not have missed hearing from her? Why didn't he....? She stopped herself. She had puzzled over this too many times already.

She reached into her purse again and drew out a folded note. She traced her finger over the word "Squire" in script on one side. Standing, the chair squeaking in protest in the oppressive quiet, she took one last look around the small room. She felt a chill as her eyes found the bullet holes in one wall. He had taken this address all over the world with him, and into two wars. It had seen some terrible things. Perhaps it was best that he had left it behind.

Her hand hovered over the untidy desk with her final letter, but she hesitated to drop it. Perhaps this last attempt was too much. Perhaps he just needs to let her go along with the past he has abandoned. She knows he has her phone number, and she is easy enough to find online. He even has her snail mail address. If he wants to contact her, he will.

Her fist tightens on the note so carefully written in her hand. She turns quickly on her heel and takes a step toward the door. She stops, hand on the tarnished knob. Her other hand slowly releases the last crumpled note she had lovingly written that morning. It seems to fall in slow motion to the top of the spam pile littering the floor. A fat tear rolls down her cheek, splashing in the dust on the floor. She takes a deep breath, and with no more hesitation, she pulls open the protesting door and steps out into the light, and is gone.

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Replies:

[> [> Welcome Back!! Hope you pop in more often! And, of course, throw things out here! *G* This way please >>> -- Myxtress, 10:41:07 07/16/12 Mon

>I don't have a title, but it is for the writing prompt
>"Communication" Was I supposed to actually USE the
>word communication in the piece? Well. Enjoy!

LOL Nope! You did awesome! The one word prompt is open to however you want to use it. And let me say, how much I enjoyed coming here with my morning cup of coffee, and reading this bit you posted. Wonderful!

And not odd at all! This is a cool concept! Love it!

From the first skreeck of warped wood, to the stockinged foot in a not-quite-sensible shoe, you had me. And then you go and show me the setting so vividly, cinching the whole deal with this:


This space had been empty for some time, and it was as if the room couldn't quite figure out how to make space for the intruder.

I really felt the abondonment here.

And now, for some reason, I almost feel like going and cleaning up my email. *G* Almost...

Thanks so much for sharing! More. Soon. K??

Hugs

Esther

>

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[> [> [> Thanks, Esther! And it is nice to meet you! :) I'll try to show up more often! -- JustGina, 13:36:32 07/16/12 Mon

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