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The weather was chilly for the coming spring. She pulled her coat tighter around her shoulder and brushed her gloved hands up and down her arms. She felt quite like a burrito, the way she was wrapped up in the thick jacket and knitted scarf, three layers of shirts beneath that.
She was happy with herself, satisfied with what she had done. She was much more reflective recently. After a year of therapy, weekly cognitive and metacognitive medical appointments, and regular visits to the neuro-physicians, she was feeling better.
The laws had changed on what the government were allowed to do to people, apparently she was one of the listed victims who had been ruined by the scornful hand of the government.
They had taken her memories, she was told, so there were a number of procedures and therapies and remedies that she had to go through to get them back. It worked successfully enough, but her therapist definitely hadn't expected for her to have been through so much.
The street she walked along made sentiment swell in her heart. She missed it, just a little.
Her hair was still blonde from when she had dyed it all those years ago for a mission. She had planned on changing it actually, to a silverish lapis: almost like a steel blue or periwinkle. But she remembered him saying it looked nice on her, the blonde, so she kept it.
She walked along the road to the post office: kicking an array of rouge, gold and burnt orange leaves that were crisp as biscuits. The leaves looked like fairies in her eyes, autumnal fairies.
She originally had zipped the brown envelope beneath her coat, but after it had tried to slip and fall into the street for the third time - she opted to just clutch it in one of her pinkish mittens.
She had to calm down her nerves before entering the post office. She was so damn nervous.
Ever since the therapies started working, she knew she had to do this. She had waited since that day. But it was so much scarier than she imagined it would be.
She was relieved though, it was made so much easier by the boy behind the counter being the one she was looking for. He looked tired, his eyes dark and a cap pulled over his head that made them look even darker. His cheeks seemed heavy enough to drag his lips down in a forever frown.
His face lit up with recognition - but he went back to his down seeming poker face, too quick for her to notice it at all. He didn't want to be too optimistic.
She placed the letter on the table, faltering at the minute eye contact. She hadn't been very close to people in a while.
"Where do you want it posted to?" His voice was hoarse and he cleared his throat to try and fix that just a little, to make himself just a little more audible. But it didn't work. "Uhm, actually, it's erm," She stumbled over the words. Years ago, she wouldn't have. She would've had confidence. But that seemed a world away.
