Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
☾ 𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑅𝑇𝑌
Anna woke with a fright, a layer of sweat decorating her forehead with a light sheen. It must have only been about five in the morning- the darkness of early morning, a blueish tinge, seeped in through the thin curtains that hung over the window. She shivered, stretching her back, hearing the ripples of cracks as she sat up, feeling the cool draft hitting her body as the blankets dropped around her waist.
The movements felt so familiar. Waking with a jolt of surprise which was sometimes even fear, opening her eyes wide as she tried to see into the shadows, and mind whirling as she tried to remember what had woken her in the first place. But it had been weeks since she last had such a vivid dream. This one was filled with memories, good and bad, but so numerous, flying at her all at once in one vast, overwhelming shower. She heard screams and cries and laughter and saw the faces of past friends. Josephine, Will, Robert... and Elliot.
The floorboards creaked loudly as she slid from the bed, pulling the blanket around her shoulders, the nightgown doing little to keep her warm. She sat at the desk by the window, lighting the candle with the last of the matchsticks that stayed hidden in the back of the top drawer. In the corner, on top of a pile of plain paper, lay the letter Elliot had written.
Anna slid out a piece of paper, not bothering to read over the letter another time. Already, she'd skimmed the words numerous times, drinking in the surprising curve of his elegant handwriting, far smoother than her own. But as she moved to write, first scrawling down his name in as neat of writing as she could, the words fell out of grasp.
Dear Elliot...
The blankness of the page stared back at her tauntingly. She could tell him that'd she'd found her mother and her brother, that things were going brilliantly and that she could wish for nothing more and that she didn't miss anything from her past at all. But some of those things were a lie. Anna didn't want to lie to Elliot.
With all that was happening, she didn't know what to tell him. Anna loved her mother and Michael, but the situation they found themselves was not ideal at all. And she remembered what Elliot once said, that he wanted nothing more than for her to find her family safely so he could visit her in England one day. That would only make the situation worse.
Anna sighed, throwing her head down onto her arms that lay crossed against the table. The scent of the paper filled her nose until it was overpowered by the smell of the wet ink that tickled her fingers. With a gasp, she jumped backwards, cringing as the wooden chair scraped against the floor. Black ink stained her hands, a few droplets soaking through the pale yellow of her nightdress. She cleaned it using the blank letter, dabbing it against the old surface of the desk, already ruined from years of use.
She began another.
Dear Elliot...
But still, the blankness, the lack of words she could think to write, it haunted her. Through the window, the cold light of the morning sun had begun to drift through the curtains, reflecting with a murky haze thanks to the permanent smog that hung in the street. How long had she been staring at the paper? Anna sighed. It was hopeless.
