Words Left Unspoken

Prologue

Slowly, carefully, as though counting her steps to make sure she doesn’t get to her destination too quickly, a beautiful High School girl with glossy, chestnut-colored hair makes her way down the cracked sidewalks. Cars pass on the road, the people occupying their cabins paying no attention to her, and she does her best to ignore them in return as a gust of wind catches the scent of exhaust, blowing it in her face.

The crisp wind whistles angrily around buildings, tossing her long hair about, whipping it across her face like a lash. The sealed envelopes clutched tightly in her hands flap noisily, as if calling to the wind and she presses them to her chest to quiet their sounds, as though they might give up her secret before she’s ready.

The angry, gray clouds in the sky rumble with a hint of thunder as though warning of impending doom. She glances up, turning her luminescent hazel eyes towards the roiling skies. One fat raindrop falls, landing on her cheek and rolls down her face, glinting with reflected light as it drips off her chin. Lowering her gaze, she looks ahead, towards her destination.

The rusting, metal box sits on the corner, innocently, not aware of it’s significance. The blue paint peals off the sides; its white logo is almost unrecognizable in its current condition. The girl stands quietly, watching as a man approaches quickly, without hesitation, and pulls open the mouth-like bin. It screeches loudly in protest and he drops in a brown package before releasing the handle to allow the old, rusty springs to slam it shut.

The girl flinches infinitesimally at the sound. It’s gone—dropped down into the locked storage space of the contraption. The man can’t retrieve it, but he’s moved on, not caring. He waits at the light for a moment before crossing the street.

Inhaling deeply, the girl takes another step forward and continues walking. No one noticed her standing there—even the man didn’t see her watching. She’s invisible.

As she reaches the mailbox, she pauses, facing it. Lightning streaks across the sky with a horrendous crack, lighting up the scene for a fragment of a second. The blue mouth of the box remains closed, and the girl stares it down, her vibrant eyes revealing a multitude of thoughts whirring beneath her calm exterior. A second later, the thunder responds to the lightning and slowly, rain begins to fall. It’s soft at first, but the girl knows it won’t stay that way for long.

Fanning the letters out in her hands, she looks over them one more time, biting her bottom lip.

Five names. Five letters. Thousands of words that can never be unread.

Written, in red ink, on the bottom, right hand corner of every envelope is: “To be sent: May 9, 2009.”

Cautiously, she reaches for the handle and pulls. With a groan, the box’s gapping mouth opens, waiting to swallow her words. For the last time, she hesitates, holding the sealed envelopes over the black hole. Closing her eyes, she takes a deep breath of the cool air, holding it. As she releases the breath from her lungs, the envelopes slip from her fingers.

They separate from each other as they flutter down into the box. The girl releases the handle, and the mouth closes once again with a resounding bang that echoes in her mind.

With a roar, the skies release a torrent of rain. The girl has no umbrella or a hood with which to cover her head. Her hair becomes sodden, clinging to the sides of her face. Water drips down her nose and over her rosy lips. Lightning illuminates the sky once again, the bright burst of light reflected in her glassy eyes. The vacant look she expresses carries no hint of a life within. No joy, no happiness, no spark. It’s been doused.

Turning, the strange girl strides off—heading, not the way she came, but another direction. There’s no hesitancy in her footsteps any longer; she walks with confidence, her gaze fixed straight ahead. There’s no turning back.