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[from the prompt: Letter left behind by a character who is missing or dead to some other character.]
It's her bookmark. It's in the innermost pocket of her book bag. It's always near her. She always checks that it's still there on reflex. An envelope with her name scrawled across the front, and inside a letter. It's hers and it's always with her.
Sally has never been the sentimental type before, clinging onto reminders and objects, but this is different.
She doesn't know when he wrote it, because she still hasn't read it. She doesn't know what words he left her, what secrets of the world he felt he had to pass to her were he not there. She hasn't had the strength yet to read it. Losing him was hard enough, but reading his words would hurt too much, and she wasn't sure she had enough control over herself yet for that.
Colby never had much to his name either, but he had a safe. Harry told Sally about it in the days after Colby's death. He told her that Colby had wanted to make sure she got whatever was inside of it if he weren't around anymore.
Inside the safe had been enough provisions to make sure Sally survived without him at least for a few years, if not longer. Paperwork, and certain contacts that could help her in the future. And underneath it all had been the envelope. She remembered wanting to tear it open right then and pour over every word, but she hadn't been able to. Instead it got tucked into a pocket, and then carried around for months on end.
She still looks at it every day and questions if she should just open it, but she never does. A part of her thinks if she keeps putting it off his words will always be there waiting for her. She won't really have to say goodbye yet. She'll still have something about him to look forward to. She knows deep down that this doesn't make proper sense, but it's enough to hold her. For now, it's enough.
It's her bookmark. It's in the innermost pocket of her book bag. It's always near her. She always checks that it's still there on reflex. An envelope with her name scrawled across the front, and inside a letter. It's hers and it's always with her.
Sally has never been the sentimental type before, clinging onto reminders and objects, but this is different.
She doesn't know when he wrote it, because she still hasn't read it. She doesn't know what words he left her, what secrets of the world he felt he had to pass to her were he not there. She hasn't had the strength yet to read it. Losing him was hard enough, but reading his words would hurt too much, and she wasn't sure she had enough control over herself yet for that.
Colby never had much to his name either, but he had a safe. Harry told Sally about it in the days after Colby's death. He told her that Colby had wanted to make sure she got whatever was inside of it if he weren't around anymore.
Inside the safe had been enough provisions to make sure Sally survived without him at least for a few years, if not longer. Paperwork, and certain contacts that could help her in the future. And underneath it all had been the envelope. She remembered wanting to tear it open right then and pour over every word, but she hadn't been able to. Instead it got tucked into a pocket, and then carried around for months on end.
She still looks at it every day and questions if she should just open it, but she never does. A part of her thinks if she keeps putting it off his words will always be there waiting for her. She won't really have to say goodbye yet. She'll still have something about him to look forward to. She knows deep down that this doesn't make proper sense, but it's enough to hold her. For now, it's enough.
