The Letter

He looked across at his neighbors home. The old woman had died weeks ago and finally someone was cleaning out the place. On the sidewalk the barrels were full of a lifetime of stuff when suddenly a gust of wind blew a few pieces into his well kept yard. Damn, he thought, now I have to clean up that crap. Pulling on his shoes he went outside, picked up a piece of paper and for some reason, unknown to him, he began to read. “My Dearest Mabel,” it began, followed by words of intimacy and deep love. Looking up at the corner he read, December 15, 1944, Bastogne. Now he knew.

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3 thoughts on “The Letter

  1. Beautiful and left me wanting more! Please add another section of this story at a later date, it captivates! I enjoyed the message you sent. Too often when someone dies, people rid the homes of what embodied the person’s soul. I felt disturbed at the thought of watching piles of “important (to someone) junk” being discarded without thought, but with a task to do. Thank you for sharing!

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