Shadow Lines

Ch. 11 The Star

Ch. 11 The Star

My dearest Celeste,

I’m sorry I haven’t written anything to you in such a long time. Events happened and I have become too preoccupied to write. You are, in turn, the person I confide in. Strange, isn’t it? We have never met in person, yet we have become so close through words…

Do you believe in death, Celeste? An afterlife? I believe you told me this once, countless of letters ago. Tell me, my dear friend, do you believe there is a heaven? God? I did…and I suppose I still do. But, oh, Celeste, it’s become so hard. It’s become so very hard to believe anymore.

My Markus died only a few days ago, you know. Do you remember Markus? I told him about you on several accounts throughout these letters. Do you think I loved him? I’ve been so unsure of my feelings as of late. I think I did. I think he loved me back, too. But now he’s gone. And so is my job. I’m panicking, Celeste. What do I do? I have no job…no Markus to be there to comfort me...I don’t even know if I have hope anymore. Money is running out. Bills are piling by the minute.

I’ve had another friend who’s helped me through all these troubles. His name is Will. He doesn’t have a last name. He’s a very mysterious man, Celeste. No, not a man. Something else. But I’m not allowed to tell you, he says. But Will is good. He brought me to the apple tree that my brother and I planted all those years ago. Have I ever mentioned the apple tree? I’m not sure. I’ve been forgetting things lately. I have been becoming so lost within my thoughts that I lose track of time.

I will write you again, Celeste. I hope you will write me back. I miss talking to you through letters. Even though you are my pen pal, you’ve become so much more. You’re my closest friend besides Will now.

Sincerely,

Evelyn

I finished reading the letter, placing it back into the white envelope addressed to Celeste Ariad. I looked over at Evelyn Arousela’s sleeping form. She looked peaceful.

I had come into her house around the afternoon, checking upon her to see if she was all right. After we had arrived back from the apple tree, Evelyn had become morose once more. She had locked herself in her room, followed by the furious scratching of letters upon paper. I felt as if Evelyn had driven herself deep down into an abyss of darkness.

Hope.

Did Evelyn Arousela really no longer believe in hope?

I sat next to her on the bed. Outside the morning light touched my skin.

“I am sorry.” I said softly.

I wished for Evelyn to wake from her dream state. I wanted to tell her about hope.

Humans, I have found, have clung to one thing in times of darkness: each other. It gives them hope to see the other person.

Hope for a better future.

Hope for a change in the past.

Hope for light.

And, now, apparently, Evelyn Arousela had lost that.

I stared at the letter to Evelyn’s apparent pen pal. Celeste. A star.

Perhaps that could bring the hope that Evelyn Arousela so desperately needed.

There was a knock on the door. It was abrupt. Loud. Impatience vibrated throughout the walls of the house. I calmly closed Evelyn Arousela’s bedroom door and went downstairs. I waited for the impatient mailman to put the mail in the white ornate mailbox at the far side of the lawn. Or maybe it was not a man.