nothing more fragile

scene ii: involves a simple item that triggers a memory.

(See the end of the work for notes.)

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An inferno silently burned in her mind, as it shifted and created sensations that slithered into every orifice, and creeped outwards across her skin like a ferocious thunderstorm, ready to consume her sanity. She had only read the name on the envelope that it fuelled a flame so astonishingly resonant, it infused anarchy in her mind and it left a taste in her mouth - almost bitter as fear latched itself onto her. Each labyrinthine passageway collapsed and it let loose repressed memories which found their way to her consciousness, only to invoke a state of melancholy and utter displacement. Her heart fibrillated in dissonance and each pulse rung uncoordinated through her body in sheer nervousness, as she slipped her thumb under the edges of the flap and unfolded the letter:

Rebecca,

I miss you. Really. I hope I'm not coming off as inconsiderate, by contacting you again after what happened. I mean it, though. I really miss you. I hope you'll understand. It pains me that we don't talk anymore, or well, I try to talk but you blatantly ignore me as if we weren't even friends. I tried to call you, message you, contact you in any way possible but everything seems to be on your side, I mean I tried contacting you through your friends, but they seem to look at me with utter contempt. I used to be your friend, what happened to that? You never listened to what Margot had to say, she used to be your best friend, a part of your clique but you made it your hobby to demean her every single time after what she did.

I didn't write to you just to try to clear everything, the main reason was that I wanted to tell you that I miss you and I guess I can't help but say that again and again. You were a good friend to me, a really good friend, because you tried your best to keep me out of things that would destroy my future and you knew how much my future meant to my parents. I just had no idea what you felt. Your friends told me that Margot knew your feelings towards me and she did what she did in total spite of you, but that's not the case, Rebecca. It's not always that way. They don't know that I was the one who asked her to be my girlfriend.

You weren't like this, Rebecca, you're a good person. What happened to you? If I had an inkling for what you felt, I would never have asked Margot to be my girlfriend. You're gonna think that she shouldn't have accepted just because she knew.

You can't exactly kill her for that, you'd have to take the matter upstairs because that's where it was all decided. Cupid decided to hit her with the arrow, the same way it hit you. You can't blame Margot, the way I can't blame you for falling for me. It was destiny. All this happened to make you into a stronger person. Sometimes life throws a puzzle at you to solve, if you can solve it, you'd understand, but sometimes when you can't solve it, you learn. It's all a small part of a big plan that's ahead of you, trust me. You can't always keep it in your heart, because if you don't forgive you won't move on. I don't want to see you stagnate.

Until next time,

John

A stream of emotions swirled in her mind; anger, guilt, sadness and finally an inevitable emptiness. She could almost feel the palpitating melancholy that seeped into the walls of the room in which she resided, and a sorrow that sat on her shoulders. Almost as though she had collected the grief and tears of the world, and with each collection, her shoulders seemed to weigh a bit more.

She felt anger towards Margot; a deep resentment that had settled into her bones as each conversation they had shared could be seen in Polaroid photographs, each faded and distorted, some more prominent and some that could not be distinguished. A bizarre form of guilt which she did not want to feel, because as each time she read the letter, her day with Anne seemed to linger at the back of her thoughts, like a predator crouching in anticipation of its prey. Sadness because her memories of John were worn at the edges and the paper on which she has filled them with watercolour had lost its vigour and she saw them in grey.

And Rebecca did not seem to mind the emptiness that followed, because she wanted it to rush against her in Tsunami waves, to wash away unrequited feelings and drench her in a colour from the autism spectrum.

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A/N: I'm seriously annoyed that I can't possibly seem to write more than 700 words, maybe the challenge can help me break the cycle. Anyway, to anyone who might possibly be reading this, I hope your day is going good. :) x