The letter
A writing exercise to feed your creative mind
The story begins with a person finding a letter.
How old is it? (300 years, 10 years, 1 day)
Where has it been found? (down the back of a radiator, at a bus stop, in a supermarket trolley)
How long has it been wherever it is?
How many people have read it? Was it never opened? Has no one read it?
Who finds it? What is the letter’s relationship to them e.g. was it written by a stranger, by their grandfather, by their ex?
What happens next?
Use the letter as a catalyst for your story.
Please share your writing in the comments if you’d like!
Photo by Valeria Reverdo on Unsplash
The letter was sitting there—unloved, overlooked, forgotten. The corners curled up where a cup of tea or a mug of coffee had rested, staining it indelibly. Had it even been read? The ring of dried liquid said yes, but the casual neglect suggested the opposite. Both could be true.
I didn't know. I had only come into this shared office space today, and I had no idea who had sat here before me. The organisation was large, impersonal, and mercurial; people came and they went.
So who was the letter intended for? Who wrote it? Had it been read and discarded in disappointment, anger, or frustration? Or just absentmindedness? Or, and this was equally possible, was it merely a discarded list or a missive deliberately left unsent?
Should I even look? Did I care? The fact that I was considering it suggested I did, but then why hadn't I simply picked up the paper and parsed its contents? All this hesitation was keeping me from my purpose here: to produce similar, eventually stained scraps of paper that might, or might not, be read.
Ah, what was the point?
I have been sitting on this bench for the longest time.
The rain does not seem willing to stop any moment soon. No buses are coming, my phone is dead, and I cannot rely on hitchhiking in such a remote part of the countryside. Sitting and waiting is my sole option - not a great one, I understand, but I have never been too much of a complainer.
I have my headphones on, The Smiths are playing. I start searching my left pocket to look for any type of distraction, and that's when I find it. There is an envelope in there. "This is weird - I think to myself - I am fairly sure I did not have an envelope on me when I left this morning".
I carefully take it out of the pocket, turn it in my hands. How long has it been there for? Who even put it there? There is no name on it, it looks quite worn and wrinkled, but not extremely old. It is open, so I guess it will not create too much of a fuss if I take a quick peek at it. Just to kill some time. After all, it is in my pocket.
The date is 2025, last year. "Dear Charlie, ..." - I sigh and rejoice, the fact that the letter does not have my name on it makes the whole situation less eerie. A little, at least.
"... I have been trying to talk to you for over three months now, and I have not managed to build up the courage to do so. My sister suggested I could write you a letter instead. She said I don't really have to give it to you if I don't feel like it: I can just type it, and then burn it. I am not much of a pyromaniac, and I believe you should be made aware of what I have intended to tell you since last August. It was me. I am so sorry. It was me who left the door open the day your dog run away. It was an accident, though, I promise. Sure, I did not like your dog. Fucking pug, it had such a silly face. But I would never have done it on purpose. Worst case scenario, I would have re-homed it so not to bump into its stupid snoring face while getting my coffee ready every morning before work. But I would never have abandoned it, or willingly lost it. I know how much you loved Mochi.
I hope you will forgive me, it was an honest lack of attention on my way out to the new job.
Charlie, I feel the worst housemate ever, but I promise I'm sorry.
Hugs,
-Zoe"
Zoe was a colleague at my workplace. I did not really know her all that well, she had started roughly a year ago but we worked in different departments. I had no idea where she lived, either. I will give her the letter back tomorrow, it must have slipped out of her pocket while the coats were hanging on the rack at the entrance, and the person who found it must have put it in my jacket by mistake.
I wonder if she ever managed to talk to her housemate, in the end. She most definitely held onto the letter for quite some time (without burning it, after all). I would want to know if they ever found Mochi. God, so many open questions here. Oh well.
While I'm folding the letter back in the envelope, a car stops in front of the bench. The rain is still heavy, and it is getting late now, so I'm quite happy when the window rolls down and the smiley face of Mrs Benson appears. She is my neighbour. I remove my headphones, she asks me if I need a lift home, as we are headed the same way.
"I sure do, thanks so much."
"What are you doing out here in this weather?"
"Oh, I came out for a run and failed to realise how far I went, when it suddenly started pouring. You are such a blessing, I could have waited here forever."
"You are lucky, Mr Sparkle loves walking in the woods out here because they are further from the road and the noise. That's why I drive all the way every afternoon, it is his treat. He deserves it, you know? He's such a good boy. He's the most handsome."
While saying that last sentence, she checks the rear-view mirror, as if talking to someone. I instinctively turn my head to look at the back sit: a pug is sitting there, wearing a yellow raincoat, heavily panting and snoring. It stares at me. I stare back.
For a second, I consider the option of calling it Mochi and see if there is any obvious reaction. Then I look at its outfit, matching Mrs Benson's, and they seem to me such a good pair I would not want to be the person who destroys the love story.
Sorry Charlie, sorry Zoe.
Mr Sparkle, Mochi, whatever the name... It really has a silly face by the way. Even more so with a raincoat on, I swear.
-Jade 🦄✨