Title: People of Letters
Rating:
PG
Characters: Nine, Susan
Prompt:
Mail
Disclaimer: Totally not mine.
Summary:
Vaguely inspired by Proust: "People
of the world are so imbued with their own stupidity that they can
never believe that one of their own has talent. They appreciate only
people of letters who are not of their world."
The first drabble from a prompt table that I'm still working on. Future drabbles will be posted in larger chunks as I write them.
He found it in a room that he never visits anymore.
The note wasn't particularly remarkable or special, just a few lines scrawled on the back of a school assignment, telling him that she would be back in a few hours. She'd needed new shoes.
He flipped the page over and read page three of an essay on French literature. It was covered in red marks. His fingertips skimmed over the page, tracing a letter or two as he went.
For a moment, he thought he was going to throw up. Instead, he put the paper back down, turned on his heel, and left the room. Sitting around and feeling sorry for himself wouldn't change anything.
Susan didn't need shoes anymore.
