Love Letter From the Future?

You are 15 years old and, while still living with your parents, you discover a secret room in your house. It is filled with all sorts of strange things, but one thing in particular catches your eye: It’s a love letter to your mom from someone who isn’t your dad. What’s more peculiar is that it is dated five years into the future. Write a scene where you confront your mom about the letter.

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219 thoughts on “Love Letter From the Future?

  1. kaitlynalexis11

    No one knows what love is anymore, it was bred out of the human race through the eons. It got in the way of progress. Love does not exist anymore to help alleviate anger and revenge, and not to mention rebellion. But every once in a while, a mutation occurs and a human child is born with the capacity to love. This child is very alone in the world and has to pretend that they are not different to survive.
    My name is Blaze, and that child would be me.
    Our silver ship, The Progeny, slices through the blackness of space as easy as a knife through soft butter. She left the confines of earth twenty years ago when The Dark Divide was almost upon the it and there was no choice but to leave. Only so many could fit on the ships and no one knows what has become of those that were left behind. Picked by lottery, they said. I have reason to believe differently; actually I am holding that reason in my hand right now. If I get caught, well, let’s just say, the airlocks don’t always work right and people tend to…disappear.
    I was born on this ship fifteen earth years ago. Children grow up fast and are born for one purpose, to breed. We don’t know who our fathers are; no one cares to ask, but I am positive that I know who mine is. There is only one male-mate that shares my bright blue eyes. This is the only thing we have in common though, but I know it must be him. He is the Keeper of the Peace, strict enforcer of the Living Code, doled out in physical punishment. The monstrous battle scar across his forehead tells all.
    My mother goes about her tasks dutifully, as all good female-mates do. I will become an official female-mate on my sixteenth birthday. I am expected to fulfill my duties, populating the ship in preparation for our destination, Planet G463, Zarabeth Base.
    I never thought life could be any different, until I read the love letter sent to my mother. Attached to this letter is a roster of the original five hundred people picked for the Progeny’s voyage, and why. This was no lottery like they said. My mother has never been careless, ever, yet leaving this letter in her sleep pod, tucked inside a copy of the forbidden book “Rom and Jul” was as careless as can get. The Living Code demands I turn her in.
    How can I turn in my own mother?
    Careless of me to take her book and letter, mother now knows that I know. I left my own secret writings in the hidden compartment I found on the engine deck. Maybe someday someone will find them and know that I existed. Whoever finds them might even get a chance to read in my point of view of what love is.
    They come for me now, I hear them. The bells on the boots of the Keeper of the Peace signal his arrival. “For Whom the Bells Toll,” I think, my face twisting, as I never understood that saying before now. There is nowhere to hide, or run, so I turn to face my fate.
    “Pull yourself together and come with us,” mother says, roughly pulling me alongside her and the Keeper.
    “You’ve passed the test, but we can’t talk here. Hush. I’ll tell you everything soon. Your destiny is not what you may think.”

  2. Echo_ave

    I didn’t mean to snoop. Really, it wasn’t my fault that an old key appeared on the table. What was I supposed to do? I didn’t know it would unlock a cramped, hidden room under the stairs. What I uncovered would quickly unravel a mystery that had been put into motion twenty years before my birth, changing who I thought I was forever. Strangely, it all began quietly, like any other day. At fifteen, I was just beginning to realize that life was not like the movies.
    Real life is much stranger.

    Megan Kingsley drew her breath. Around her lay the clutter of passing years, locked inside a secret room underneath the staircase. There were tiny glass orbs, empty snow globes, and other curious things. It was as if another life had been stored away, kept out of sight where it would never be discovered.
    But why? Who brought all these things here?
    Perhaps it was the man who had written a letter, a love declaration to her mother. Did her parents have a secret life? Perhaps it was her mother who… her mother!
    Megan gasped as if caught inside a secret, hearing the front door jingle just feet away. Her mother was home from work. Quickly, Megan climbed out of the small closet-sized room, holding the letter tightly. As Mrs. Kingsley entered the large mansion, Megan lifted the worn paper, desperate to know more.
    “Mom, what is this?”
    Mrs. Kingsley’s eyes seemed to crumple at the sight of the letter. “I’m sorry, dear, you were never supposed to know. Did he contact you? Is he back?”
    “Who?” Megan’s eyebrows jolted higher.
    “Your father.”
    Megan blinked. “Dad’s—”
    “Sweetie, I did what I had to do to — to protect you. I should have known he would have returned. I knew your birth father wanted to visit you. It — it’s in his blood. I was so afraid you would get it too.”
    Megan sat down, still clutching the letter. She had been about to say that her father was upstairs, asleep. “What?”
    Mrs. Kingsley gasped, a shudder shaking her shoulders. “He — he said it was something in his family line, messed up DNA or something. One day he was there, and then he simply wasn’t. He isn’t like others, Sweetie. There isn’t something… normal about that family. Your family. They’ve always been able to — to shift.” She dabbed her eyes.
    “Shift what?” Megan asked, hardly believing what she was hearing.
    “Time, dear. The Ciel family has always been able to shift through time.”

  3. Adry

    “NO! JUST GO AWAY!” She shouted at her mother, before running off blindly. She ran upstairs and past her father’s room, and into the attic…her sanctuary. She threw herself down on her silk adorned bed. She was horrified by what she had found.
    The room was beautiful, its rich browns, reds and golds inviting her in. It was warm and filled with secrets just waiting to be discovered, but there was one in particular she didn’t want to find. One she didn’t understand.
    The room was filled with dust covered books, and scattered papers, book shelves covered the walls, except one, where a fire crackled in the hearth. A slick wooden desk was placed in front of two leather couches, and upon it was a single letter and rose that lay in waiting. She had walked over there, curiosity getting the best of her as she picked up the letter and read the elegant writing. She knew it was wrong to open it; it was not addressed to her, but rather to her mother. Nevertheless she slid her finger under the slip and torn it open, pulling out the thick parchment.
    “I know I should not be writing this to you my sweet, but I feel like this maybe the last. We both know what we feel should never be spoken of and Victoria is becoming more and more suspicious of my late-night arrives to bed. I fear we may be caught. I do not wish harm upon you or your beloved family, and I know I should have stopped days ago, but I simply wish to express to you, for the last time, my everlasting…” she paused not wanting to read on, not wanting to see that one word that seemed to linger in the fridged air, despite the fire. Love. Another man, most definitely not her father, was writing of love to her mother. With a shuddering breath she looked down at the letter again, now shaking in her trembling hands. She scanned it in search for a date, hoping…wishing it was not recent. With a shocked gasp the letter slipped out of her hands, floating down like a feather back on the desk. The letter couldn’t have been sent then! It was impossible, for it was not even 1861 yet, but merely 1856! And-and for it to be sent by the prince! She looked down at it again and again read the name. Albert. Prince Albert.
    “Elizabeth? Elizabeth where are you?” Her mother had called out to her, but she was too shocked to answer. Her mother walked in, and froze at the sight of her daughter and the incriminating letter.
    Her door opened with a soft squeak, snapping her out of her reeling thoughts. She turned to see her father standing there, confusion clear on his face, and when he spotted her tear streaked face he went rushing over to her.
    “What has happened my dear?” He whispered. Nodding her head, she decided to tell him.

  4. CLKone

    “Jeremy, Are you going to write it?”
    “Yeah.” I blink moisture and start tapping keys.
    …You really wanna know what brings a 15 year old track star and academic ace to tears? Suit yourself. But holding me hostage in this cubicle until I “sort my feelings” on paper is real nasty. I’ll do Mr. Z proud, though, even if he never sees me in English class again.
    That day I ran out of the house, crazy with confusion. The crumpled letter in my jeans pocket scraped my thigh. Questions clawed my brain. Nothing made sense. Not the attic space, not the chrome gadgets, not the psycho-babble book, or the gibberish charts on the floor. Not the metal container with Captain Kirk’s wardrobe miniaturized. Ridiculous.
    By the time I got home I was planning a supper showdown at the O’Connell corral. Mr. Z would like that one. The attic had to be a joke. My run had restored my balance, I thought.
    At supper, I tugged the letter out of my pocket and tossed it onto the table right between the chicken casserole and the Ceasar salad. I expected Mom to harp me about my table manners, or maybe wink because I had discovered the joke, but she froze. Even crumpled the sheen of the envelope caught the light and sparkled. That alone should have got some response.
    I gulped a swig of my milk and felt my cheeks heat up like a radiator. Mr. Z would like those words too. Dad looked like a granite statue. His past words echoed in my head. “Jeremy, be direct and honest. No good comes from avoiding difficulties.” I wondered what he would think about this letter.
    Mom cleared her throat and looked me in the eye. “What’s that Jeremy?”
    She was asking ME? “A letter, Mom.”
    Her lips attempted a smile, “From a girl? One of your classmates?”
    My head ached. My ears pounded like the drum line at assembly.
    Dad turned. “Don’t keep your Mother in suspense.”
    I breathed deep and exhaled, “It’s a letter to Mom from some guy named Hector dated on my 20th birthday. I read it. All. I found it. In the attic. Is it true? What it says?” “Mom?”
    Dad didn’t even flinch. Mom didn’t either for that matter. I don’t remember anything but the look. Their eyes really did say it all, no joke. Sorry Mr. Z for the cliche. And now I’m supposed to start calling Dad Mr. Paris? This is ridiculous ….
    “How you doing, son? Finished with your sorting?”
    “Don’t call me that.”
    Dr. Hamlyn nodded. He almost seemed sorry, but I doubt he makes mistakes with words.
    “You know, your real father is still alive. When you are ready, your Mother and Mr. Paris will explain everything.”
    Great, more moisture to blink.


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