A Short Letter

The blazing light was shining in my face and a slight breeze blew through the arched windows. I spotted an open chest in the attic, whilst spring cleaning. The outside rim of the box was covered in dust and cobbled webs; the hinge was rusty, making a creak noise against the ghost-quiet room. Rummaging my hand around the chest there was a scratchy-substance digging against my fingers. As the sun faded from my sight I lifted up the mysterious object. It was an old rustic book; I flipped through the delicate pages, every touch made a crinkling

I could feel the breeze skim through my hair as my loose shirt caught the brisk air behind me. This was my sanctuary, the feeling was bliss. I made my way home, bracing myself for the approaching argument I was about to have with my mother. That feeling of pleasure left my body as quickly as it arrived. I stepped into the front door, and closed it behind me as quietly as I could, maybe she wouldn't notice I was late home. But before I could even take the first few steps inside, I heard mum coming from the kitchen,

I gripped the over-annotated, photocopied packet in my eager fingers so that my sweaty fingers made print marks on the black speckled page. And I read. I cried. And my dream changed.

The deep waters of sorrow and pain have overwhelmed me in the past months. Agony and despair has left me breathless as I stay on the surface of the waters, trying to find the hope and love deep down in the water. I am scared to go further to discover as I might drown in the love from the Father who loves me so. The waters can only keep me sane for so long until I let go and let God take over. The waves have overwhelms my eyes that I have become blind; blind with anger and violence so that my emotions have become equal with the storms. How can your love seem so innocent as the farther I go it becomes more dangerous? I am left breathless as you take me deeper. Deeper into something that can leave me wanting more.

The thundering sound of hooves echoes in my ears as my horse comes barreling down the hill toward me. My whistle had caused him to go crashing through the tall grass and Queen Ann’s Lace in search of me once again. Coming to a sliding stop in front of me, I gently stroke his muzzle. Letting my hands glide over his fuzzy neck and into his jet black mane, I grab ahold and throw myself onto his strong back. We go running through the pasture, scattering wild rabbits and sending sparrows a flight. I watch them fly overhead, their brown wings leading them to rest in the big oak tree that my horse and I come to a halt underneath.

As she opened the door, she hoped to herself that the inside was nearly as well done, to her delight... it was. The carpenters had fully replaced the banister and painted it and the blood trail was gone from the hardwood. All of the workers were huddled inside the cafe sipping on some coffee, they appeared to be taking a break. Her heart began to race as she ran up the stairs, it was rounding on five and they couldn’t afford a break...or could they. Cleo froze on the top step, it was unimaginable. Every fleck of wall and every particle of dust was in its original condition. No blood, no knives, not a single atom out of place. In stunned silence, she paced the hardwood floor, she walked from the railing to the bathrooms. She wasn’t sure how

Thank you for the letter and parcel you sent. The cake was delicious and the socks are much appreciated. If it isn’t too much trouble, I wish to request that you send more socks, as soon as you are able. I shall never again take for granted the comfort of warm, dry feet.

I was overjoyed to recieve your letter. I hope you maintain your good grade and take very good care of your sister, Meredith. I miss your charming personality and smile that would bright up a room. I could use one of your hugs right about now. The infirmary isnt exaclty the most cheerfull place. Usually i would be filling sandbags right about now because we rotate responsibilities between the frontlines and the fields. Our lives on the frontlines are horrendous. There are not enough words to describe how terrible the frontline trenches truly are. There are thousands of mice , not like the ones you would see behind the schoolhouse,these are huge and often carry nasty diseases and infections such as lice. There

It was the week after my eighteenth birthday and the smell of artificial smoke and the sound of young children dressed as monsters, demanding sweet treats, permeated my room. My fingers pressed to The Jade Shard, the book I had chosen for the project which had gotten all warped from the moisture that attacked the pages when I was reading it in the steamy shower. I sat down at my laptop, my body limp from exhaustion, to work on a paper for school. Writer’s block tripped me like The Mountain did The Red Viper.

I practically fell out of the bus. I had no money to buy water and I was sweating bullets. All I have to do is to get to is get to Martin’s house I thought. Then they will aid me with my arid throat. But wait, I have forgotten where they live! I should travel to the town’s central area and maybe I will remember how to get to Martin’s house! If not, then I can just ask someone on the street, I thought. As I trudged on, I could feels scabs on my feet. The money in my boots must have caused this, I thought. But it was necessary, I wanted a proper funeral. The sun beated upon my head as I blindly walked through the town. My sight was starting to appear with blur.

Spreading these stationery items in a circle around me on the floor, I weave them into a reflection of my thoughts. Once I finish assembling the book like structure, I start pasting in the colorful pictures I had printed earlier into the book. Each page in this new book is devoted to a specific aspect of the place I crave. As I turn the pages, I land on a specific page which catches my attention, inspired a day I had came home from an AP World History class and had learned about the ancient city of Lothal in class. Out of all the cities we had studied, this was the one that had caught my attention for a multitude of rationale.

The puff paint splattered against my as both my hands etched the edges with shadows and dimension. The page’s emptiness subsided into a dance of color, dark and light, swirling in harmony, just like the Montagues and Capulets should have been. The stars winked on the canvas paper just like-

Alongside a dirty creek, I found that the water breathed in my lungs and I did not mind it. Almost a serenity, to those who have yet to know, it was a starkling contrast to the manifestation of gloom that tattered at what the Lord gave to me not too long ago. With the branches of orchard trees blurred and the faint hum of hummingbirds, I thought, the time to cut the rope would soon fall. This rope that was laced with tar from those before who left nothing but more holes to bore in memories that should've been galore with joy. Ah, this rope that grew too tight had me plea to the Lord to clean and sew it again. Oh, how else must I prosper? Lord, hear me and grant my wish. Yet, the rope remained untouched. With a rock

In the novel So Long a Letter by Marium Ba, pologmy and friendship is two of the major themes in the book. The main charter in the book, Ramatoulaye suffers and endures a long journey of love and betrayal. Ramatoulaye a well educated women, is a teacher, a wife and most importantly a mother of twelve children. After things between her and her husband escalate, she is left with a tough decision on whether to weather the storm and stay, or leave her husband and become a single mother of twelve children. Through out the book, the author speaks about three different polygamous marriages. However, I will be discussing the two major ones which include Ramatoulaye and Aissatou. The main differences between these marriages are the motives of entering a polygamous marriage. Mariama Bâ speaks powerfully against polygamy in her novel , however the differences among these polygamous marriages is a good tool of understanding Senegalese culture. In addition, It is important for one to understand the kind of relationships which Ramatoulaye and Aissatou shared with their husbands.

I don’t have the courage to face you, this is the reason I am writing a Goodbye letter to you by pouring out my feelings, emotions and thoughts about why I am leaving this relationship.