THE LETTER

CHAPTER ONE

KADENCE PETROV

 I have come to the calculation that the summer is a pointless span of time for me, and only me it seems. I do not like the heat, the disgusting sweat filled heat. I do not like the screaming and the shouting of children and the sounds of sprinklers. I prefer winter. Though she is harsh and she is possessive, she is also silent and lovely and forgiving. I love her none the less. 

Though I do despise the summer, it's nights are pleasant enough in New York. The night is luke warm and smells of daffodils if you breath deep enough and crinkle your nose. I've got a quaint little set up, here on my balcony. A small round table with a dark green plaid wall paper poorly plastered on it's surface and three small wooden chairs. I looked out into the street below me. It was empty. I can't say I was surprised, considering it was two thirty in the morning. I had been reading Jane Eyre, but I grew thirsty. I took my feet off the chair in front of me and stood up. I stretched and rotated my neck, feeling the strain of my muscles. If hurt but it felt good, I felt relieved. I went into my room, which was connected to the balcony, and walked slowly, trying not to make noise and wake my mother. I opened the door to my room and walked to the kitchen. I turned on the lights, and squinted as it flooded my vision. I opened them wider, forcing them to adjust to the new found light. Upon opening the fridge, I found a small pitcher of strawberry compote. I smiled slightly, and took it out of the fridge, carefully so not to spill it, and set it on the counter. I poured myself a glass of the cold, sweet delicious refreshment I had grown up drinking, and shut the kitchen light. I walked back into my room and shut the door slowly, making no noise in the process. Out onto the balcony I went, where I spent almost every night of the summer until 6 am. At night, I was far to tired to fall asleep. I treasured summer nights and despised the days, so I spent most of them sleeping, discovering lost dreams. I took a sip of my drink, and memories of strawberry fields and my father flooded my mind.

I took a cigarette out of my pack and propped my feet up on the chair directly in front of me. It was then that I heard a weird sound coming from next door. I turned, but saw nothing. My neighbors balcony and mine were directly next to each other. New people had just moved in next door after the old woman that lived there prior to their arrival died of cancer. I found it a bit inconvenient that their balcony was so close to mine. The old woman that used to live there never stepped foot out on that balcony. What if my new neighbor was an asshole? I let the thought leave my mind.  I lit my cigarette, and took a long drag, getting as much as I could. I exhaled, pursing my lips slightly and letting the smoke blow into the air and disappear, just like that. Poof. If smoke could disappear so easily, so could I, couldn't I? I sighed, picked up my book and continued to read, taking systematic pulls from my cigarette until it was only a filter.

CARTER WHITE

Today was tiring in every sense and meaning of the word. Boxes to unpack, furniture to move. Me and my father just moved to New York from Montreal, Canada. We found a quaint little apartment in a quite part of Queens. I was happy with it. I did not want to live in the hustle and bustle of the city. I was also greatly enjoying the weather. In the day, it was a bit too hot, but at night, it was perfect. The heat was just bearable and you could taste the humidity in the air if you pursed your lips inhaled from your mouth quickly. My dad had been unpacking until two thirty in the morning, when finally, he gave up on finishing it all today  and went to bed. I finished unpacking everything of mine, and my room was set up just the way I liked it. A bit different then home, but nice none the less. The headboard of my bed was up against the wall, my blue bed-spread hanging off the sides, pillows sitting contently against each other. My dresser had all my clothing in it, my books were on the shelve above my desk and my computer was set up for the most part. The tattered rug I refused to leave in Canada lied on the floor next to my bed. It was striped blue and green and burgundy; colors that reminded me of home. But this was my new home. 

I realized that I was quite tired indeed, so I stripped down to my briefs and a white t-shirt. I climbed into bed and propped my head up against the pillows. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. I opened my eyes and glanced onto my balcony, which had a carpeting of some sort that was supposed to resemble grass. It did this poorly, let me add. It is then that I saw a girl sitting out on the balcony next to me at two thirty in the morning. Her legs were sitting on top of a chair and she had a cigarette in her hand that she was about to light. I moved in my bed to get a better view and the shifting of my weight caused the floor to creak awful loud. The girl stopped, and looked over to my balcony. From the angle she was at, she was unable to see me, thank god. She lit her cigarette,  taking a long pull and letting it out slowly. Her hair was straight it hung around her face. It was a dark red color. A deep burgundy, that's it. It was very short in the back, coming down just at the bottom of her neck, and it grew much longer toward the line of her jaw and her chin. She was wearing a big grey wool sweater and short socks. That's all. Her legs were bare and were a sweet color. A nice, light and creamy carmel color. Her thighs were curved perfectly, and I followed those curves all the way down to her feet, which were small and curvy as well. She wiggled her toes every few seconds. I didn't have the best view of her, only her hair and body. I was unable to see her face. But from what I did see, she was beautiful, and I instantly felt a spark of relief that I would no longer have to worry if my neighbor would be some weird old man that tried to make awkward small talk with me whenever I saw him. Her body language was gentle and soft; but I could tell she was not as sweet and innocent as her body language could make you so surely believe.

She picked up a book off the small table in front of her. I couldn't exactly read what it said but I had a dark blue binding and the front was blank except for a few small words. I closed my eyes and smiled. Maybe this move isn't going to be so bad after all, I thought.