I looked at the address written neatly on top of the white envalope, the name Alaric Silverwood written in careful calligraphy in the top left corner.
When I first receieved the envalope from my mother as she lay in the hospital I dismissed it as the a lifetime regret that she never had the chance or courage to face but now, almost 3 months later, as I sat in the suburban cafe with the thick paper in my hand and a cup of cheap coffe in the other I listed all the possabilities that could be written down in there.
Knowing my mum it could be anything from 'I wish I told you' to asking someone to look out for me. I didn't need the latter with a job back in Maeson that takes care of the rent on the house though I wouldn't put it past her to ask. Taking the last swing from the polysterine cup I replaced the letter back into my leather jacket and picked up my bag from beside me. I walked pst several empty tables as well as the wooden counter where balding middle-aged man sat doing a crossword. Taking some change from my pocket I dropped it into a near-empty glass jar labelled 'school-fund for Jessie'.
Leaving the peeling yellow cafe I let the morning air wash over me as I stepped out into the small car park. My bike keys jingled from my pocket as I walked towards the back of the car park where the bike stand was oddly enough. I opened up the seat with my keys and took out the bike helmet, replacing it with the bag I took off my shoulder. Locking it in place, I put on the black helmet that matched the body of my sleek bike and secured it under my chin, pulled on my leather gloves before mounting the bike. The engine purred with the twist of the keys and I finally eased out from the cafe car park and into the waking road, joining the traffic of the few expensive cars of lifeless buisness men.
With the city just up ahead I didn't dare to think of how to deliver the news to the man I was supposed to find in the bustling city, but rather the looks of pity that were bound to be directed at me, losing a mother at just 23 was hard enough, especially when you had a younger half-sister who depended on you back home.
I was dreading this meeting but it was the last wish of Amelia Tomson, and as her eldest only son it was privalige to see it through.
YOU ARE READING
Silver-Eyed Fool.
Short StoryIt all started with a letter. The wish of a dieing mother made Nicolas take the journey to deliver the letter to the man addressed on the envelope, Alaric Silverwood. But what is the connection between Amelia and Alaric? And more importantly, what's...
