There.
A bright white envelope—open it seemed—riding the wind as it was carried down the road.
People really needed to throw things in the bin when they were done.
Quickly checking for oncoming cars, I jogged across the road and picked up the envelope. There was hardly any dirt on it. Must be recent.
I opened the envelope, not expecting much. Inside, there was a piece of binder paper folded up. Its left side was heavily frayed, as if hastily torn from a notebook. However, pristine penmanship scrawled in black ink filled the page.
Usually, I could've cared less about what layed inside the paper. But the first two words couldn't help but capture my attention.
I'm sorry.
The words were dark and bold, as if the black pen had traced them over a thousand times. They sunk into the page, as if headlining the only message that mattered in this letter. It seemed awfully personal, and although I knew I should stop, I couldn't stop myself from continuing.
I'm so sorry. I only wanted to help you. You're my best friend, and I hate myself for only bringing more pain. If I knew how screwed up reading your paper was before I did it, I wouldn't have done it. I promise. I knew you were struggling with something and I just wanted to make it better. I hated seeing you every day while you endured a pain I didn't know, didn't understand. I know it wasn't my right to go into your apartment and do it, but I swear to God, my intentions weren't messed up. I swear I just wanted to help you, Andrew. And I'm sorry for intervening and making it worse. I'm really sorry.
- N
YOU ARE READING
Yellow Letters
Ficção AdolescenteFor Lily, the first half of summer is always the most boring part of the entire year. That is, until her best friend gets back from her annual family vacation. And this summer, the two friends are determined to make it the best one yet. But Lily's l...
