The ending is in sight! If you’re finding yourself low on creative energy, let this #WDAuthorSpotlight give you the boost you need: Robert Scotellaro: Writing Flash Fiction That's Short but Not Slight
Does anyone write letters anymore? Or is your mailbox just full of junk and bills and the occasional package from Amazon? For today’s prompt, let’s write about an unopened letter.
Remember: These prompts are just starting points; you have the freedom to go wherever your flash of inspiration takes you.
(Note: If you happen to run into any issues posting, please just send me an e-mail at email@example.com with the subject line: Flash Fiction Challenge Commenting Issue.)
Here’s my attempt at writing about an unopened letter:
I hope you’re well. I think about you a lot. Not much to do now since I’m retired, you know. I wanted to keep working, but after the knee surgery, they said I couldn’t lift things like I used to. They probably would have given me an office job, but I dunno. I’m old now. Maybe it was time for something new. Your aunt told me that you’re busy with school. You were always really smart, smarter than me. So I’m not surprised. I’m proud of you for sticking with it, even though I’m not really sure what you do with a master’s in pharmacy.
I went to the lake house a few weeks ago, and it reminded me of when you were little and you used to use the rope to swing down into the water. You used it so much that one summer that your hands went raw, but your mom and I couldn’t keep you off it. Then a few summers after that, you were more interested in spending time with that girl from down the way. Stephanie, I think her name was. I don’t remember you talking to her much after that summer, though. Funny how things work out that way. Time just seems to move forward, one day rolling into the next, and then one morning you wake up and your back is frozen stiff and the dog has gray hair and you don’t recognize your face when you look in the mirror. Then, everything’s quieter than it used to be, and you don’t have anywhere to go or anyone to see. Don’t get old, kid. I really don’t recommend it.
Anyway, I don’t want to take up too much of your time. I’ve just been thinking about you. It’s been a while—a long while. I’m sorry for what happened. For what I said. It’s funny, but I guess I always thought that the people in your life, the ones who really meant something to you, had to stick around. I thought that about me and your mom and look how that turned out. I thought about that with me and you. But I know better now. I’m older and I know better and I’m sorry.
I still have the old number, if you want to give it a call sometime. I miss you, Megan.