Birthday Mail (Micro-Fiction Monday)

The street is empty. Why is it still empty? The mail comes like clockwork, every morning, without fail. Why does it have to be today of all days that it’s late?

I’m wearing my best dress today; I’m not entirely sure why. Between school and work I probably won’t have a chance to meet him for a few days. He won’t see me as I rip open the envelope, tear the paper out and greedily absorb the name printed on it. He won’t see me as I place the index card in the frame my parents bought me for my birthday—the birthday where I finally find out who I’ll be spending the rest of my life with.

But still, there’s no harm in looking nice, right?

The mail courier comes into sight, finally—just in time for me to meet her on my way to school. I jump off the sofa, grab my bag with one hand and cover the doorknob with the other as I shove my feet into my shoes. I shout a quick goodbye over my shoulder, one that my mom most likely didn’t hear in my rush to close the door behind me.

I approach the courier as she’s opening our front gate, my smile wide and fingers twitching with anticipation. She knows what I’m here for; she gives me a knowing smile as she hands me my mail. I resist the urge to rip it open then and there, pausing only to thank her before rushing off down the street.

I stop at the corner, breathless, and slip my finger under the paper, ripping it open in one swift movement. In my eagerness, the contents flutter to the ground beneath me. I curse and stoop down quickly, but what I see on the ground makes my fingers freeze in midair.

Two things have fallen out of the envelope. Two stiff cards, with the same elegant, formal writing that were printed on the framed cards in my parents’ bedroom.

Two cards…with two different names.

~~

Until later,

- Justyne

Excused (Micro-Fiction Monday)

My heart beat pounds incessantly in my ears. I’m panting—no, more like gasping for breath. My lungs are desperately grabbing onto any tiny wisp of air they can, burning like fire in my chest. I’ve never ran so much in my life. Maybe if I had known I would, I would have tried to prepare a little beforehand.

                

But I didn’t know. I didn’t ask for this. As soon as the thought passes through my mind, I realize what a cliché it is. I’m a cliché. That doesn’t seem particularly fair.

                

I trip over something. A twig, a rock...hell, maybe nothing. Maybe my legs just can’t support my weight anymore. Maybe I don’t want them to. Either way, I’m soaring through the air, and colliding roughly with the ground beneath me. What little air I had left in my lungs is gone, now, rushing out as the numb pain stabs at my chest.

                

The heavy footsteps crunch through the dead leaves and twigs behind me. I gasp for breath, my lungs greedily sucking in the oxygen, but I don’t move.

                

My mother was the one who told me what I was. She told me I was the “chosen one”, that my destiny was to save the world from the evil that threatened it. I thought she was making it up. Years later, the elders of the village confirmed it. I almost warmed up to the idea, once. I thought it might be nice, being known as a hero.

                

But they were wrong. I’m not a hero, destiny or not. I’m a coward, waiting for the blade of a sword to excuse me from my duties.

~~

Until later,

- Justyne