Monday, March 5, 2018

Short Story: Dear Nobody, Anybody, and to Whom it May Concern by Allyson Reyna


It was 30 October 1941 and the star in the sky was lonely. It was dark this night, darker than usual. A train was making a purring stop in front of the Pennsylvania platform.

And a man, a young one, but with an old soul, stood there in solemn silence. He carried a briefcase and wore a disheveled cerulean trench coat. Though he appeared in perfect calmness, really he was distressed and had occurred over time a diminutive amount of anxiousness, which he was not all-too familiar with. Those were not his problems, though, for his problems were the ones that were obtained from others. He was selfless, humble, gracious, and merciful. Nonetheless, he was altruistic.

When the train came to a finalizing halt, the conductor beckoned all the passengers on board. They were traveling to Toronto, Canada, and specifically speaking the young man was heading there on a line for unusual business. He was not traveling for his own patients but for his own mother.

As he strode through the aisle, his eyes became hazy, but they regained focus when they laid to rest on a piece of parchment paper. It was placed on the window sill of that prescribed compartment. The scribbles which laid on it were unruly and the ink was blotched. Since the man was from such an inquisitive character he had a natural tendency to be curious. So with an all-too naturalness kind of manner, he sat next to the unread document. He did not touch it, nor did he glance at it once more, but sat in a protective disposition as if he was its guard.

He sat there for several elongated moments. However, this young man was as human as any other person was. He temptation to read it grabbed onto him and clung to him, till, he picked up the piece of parchment paper. Once his strong hands bared onto it, he slowly unfastened the velvet seal that enclosed it. He knew in a moment’s time that this was something that would bring great and unnecessary burden to an already heavy-hearted man.

Dear Nobody, Anybody, and to Whom it May Concern,

There is beauty in the most sorrowful of places. There is life in the most painful circumstances. There is light in the darkest of times. There is laughter hidden beneath the tears. There is joy within the sadness. There is hidden anger within the smile. There is sickness behind the face of health. There is stress underneath rejuvenation.

I try to change. But I can’t. I just am not of able strength. There is something holding on to me. Something that is not letting me go. There is someone in my head and it is not me.

I try so hard to live by this small, yet, powerfully merciful word, joy. Simple enough, isn’t it? No, actually not at all. I tell myself in repetition each and every single morning to be this joyful, whimsical, and eccentric human being. I tell myself to smile. I tell myself to portray this false image that I am not.

Instead, I frown. Instead, my anger hides my true charisma. Instead, my tears cover my face like a blanket and leave my eyes with red and swollen blotches.

People think of me as this depressed, serious, reserved, frustrated, and lonely girl. I try to believe that I am not any of those things, yet, I would just be holding onto false fixations of myself. And I know that I may be of corrupt mind, but I am not of dishonest or dishonorable character.

I remind myself that I am not lonely. I am just alone, for the moment. I have never heard a grander of worse lie than that. I guess I may be of dishonest and dishonorable character… after all.

I suppose there is no point to any of this. None. So why? Just why? I try so hard. I never seem to be enough. I never seem to get past the border of my fraudulent behavior. I never seem to be the person that I genuinely want to be.

I suppose we don’t always get what we want.

Love Always and to the End of Time,

A.B.  

            Within the closed-in compartment the man was in, his airways seemed to have collapsed in on him. The compartment seemed to grow smaller and more concealed. His air had completely caved in on him. This was not due to any kind of unhealthy state that could have obtained. He was simply a downcast man.

            Since, he was medically trained, he knew what this letter preordained. He had studied the behaviors of such people and every time he met someone like such, he though of his mother. The only thing that made this worse was that he had discovered something that prevailed from the ink lines and a message had been to written, to him. Yet, he was unable to do anything.

            After breathing in a heavy breath, he came back to his deceptive senses. This was it for him. He was disheartened and unequipped for any kind of situation like such to be tossed into his vicinity. He took one last breath, opened the window, and let the letter flow from his fingertips and he let it soar through the wind. The train continued to purr on further and it could not be stopped…

            It was the next day 31 October 1941. He had arrived in the premature morning. The sun had not even come out to say hello. This overdue visit was upon him and his apprehension grew as his weariness seasoned along with it.

            He stood still like a stone which was fixated into place. Not even the wind could make him move. However, like the good man he was, he knew that it would be even more solemn if he remained in the compartment. So he rose from his seat and walked towards the edge of the train. There she was, waiting on the platform. It took him a moment, but he eventually received the strength to put his right foot over his left and proceeded towards the person he loved and cared for the most.

            “Hello, Mother,” he said, in a voice which was coarsely above a whisper.

            “Hello, Ben. May I ask you something?” She asked with a lisp.

            “Of course.”

            “What is my name?”

            “Amelia Benetine.”



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