She sat looking at her desk. Memories of times past floated like ghost with little concept of time. Each memento on the dark oak held a special meaning to her, reasons why she now regretted her decision. A flower crown rests atop a carved wooden Buddha head. The flowers dried and entwined with leaves given to her at the same time as the Buddha. A village, so thankful for her work, the time she spent with them as she helped the political climate transition around them with as little effect as possible. They thanked her with one of the garden Buddha.
Rebecca smiled as she continued writing. Her mind wondering through the ghostly memories as her hand slowly moved across the slightly yellow parchment. Her eyes focused on a picture of her John, sweet, beautiful John standing next to his vintage motorcycle during their trek through Siam. His hair covering his eyes as his hand shielded his face from the brightness of the recently cleared forest. “We were so,” she thought but her hand continued moving, writing constantly in perfect lines of ink. Her eyes moved on to the gold locket which hung half open from a branch of a decretive tree. The pen stopped. She stopped. Trembling fingers traced down the side of the engraved gold until she twisted the images toward her. John’s blue eyes peered at her, opposite his image— their boy, Daniel. Rebecca picked up the pen and finished her letter.
“After such a loss, I am regrettably unable to fulfill my duties.”
Rebecca smiled as she continued writing. Her mind wondering through the ghostly memories as her hand slowly moved across the slightly yellow parchment. Her eyes focused on a picture of her John, sweet, beautiful John standing next to his vintage motorcycle during their trek through Siam. His hair covering his eyes as his hand shielded his face from the brightness of the recently cleared forest. “We were so,” she thought but her hand continued moving, writing constantly in perfect lines of ink. Her eyes moved on to the gold locket which hung half open from a branch of a decretive tree. The pen stopped. She stopped. Trembling fingers traced down the side of the engraved gold until she twisted the images toward her. John’s blue eyes peered at her, opposite his image— their boy, Daniel. Rebecca picked up the pen and finished her letter.
“After such a loss, I am regrettably unable to fulfill my duties.”
If you have an image you'd like for me to write a bit of dribble for please feel free to email it to me hart(dot)jeannie(at)gmail(dot)com
