I ended up watching a Hallmark movie about a man who finds a desk and sends letters to a nurse in a war that happened almost a century before his time and i was like "Aww that's hella cute~~" I then proceeded to watch Pride and Prejudice and thus this little ficlet was born. Be kind to her. She needs love and attention to grow.
It could be said that cleanliness is godliness. It could also be said that the owner of this flat didn't exactly follow this sentiment. Looking around one could see the evidence of this, papers and important documents littered the ugly burnt orange carpeted floor of the comfy one bedroom apartment. Dirty cups of half finished coffee lined every desk surface available along with plastic containers that once held cheap microwave food or Chinese takeout. Pens of all assortments were scattered around and on a plain, creaky but comfortable bed with green sheets that horribly clashed with the carpet and purple quilt curtains, sat a laptop that was almost hidden by a mountain of equally colorful textbooks.
This apartment belonged to none other than Elizabeth. Being twenty-three, it wasn't anything out of the ordinary especially if that twenty-three year old was a university student on her third year of studying medicine abroad. Elizabeth didn't consider herself particularly intellectual but rather ambitious with the right attitude and work ethic and because of this coupled with her want to help all those around her, had her wanting to become a doctor at a very young age. However, this took money and being an orphan a plan B was needed. So little Elizabeth studied her every waking moment to earn herself a scholarship. Two part time jobs were taken at the same time to earn money and sleep evaded her for many years and it was all going to be worth it.
Despite this Elizabeth was considered an average woman of her time if not hard working. Society of the twenty-first century demanded cut throat people with ambition and so Elizabeth with all her compassion was considered a simple person. She was the type of woman you would pass on the street and yet never glance at ever again. She wasn't ugly nor was she excessively beautiful, no, she was a pretty girl with lightly curled hair that reached past her shoulder blades, smooth slightly tanned skin and clear green eyes. Her beauty was the quiet kind and required more than a single glance to see. She was neither tall nor short and her clothing was tasteful but neutral and blending in was something she was adept at.
Nothing about Elizabeth made her stand out, she was perfectly average in the eyes of others. Ambitious but not to the point of pushing others out of the way. She was wise but not in a loud obnoxious way that caught peoples attention. She was sociable but never enough to be known by everyone. She spoke no other language other than her mother tongue and what French she had learned in her years of high school. It had been years since she had last picked up a violin and she had never touched another with the exception of the plastic recorders she was forced to play in kinder garden. She enjoyed walks but wasn't exactly a gifted athlete. She painted and while her work never resembled the childish work of modern artist it was no match for true painters. Her voice was smooth and she could carry a sweet and simple tune but anything more was out of her range. Elizabeth was the very definition of average in her time.
Yet, if someone were to take a long minute to stare into her deep pools of green they would see something that was, simply, more. More than what, not even she could say but it was there. However, the people of today hardly took the time to look at their own reflection let alone anyone else's visage and it was a shame to miss out out on the world within her eyes.
But perhaps it was for the better. You see, it was her average lifestyle that brought Elizabeth to stand in an old antique store where every object of a time now passed seemed to sparkle with life. But what truly drew her in was the writing desk that stood lonely and covered in a thin layer of dust in the far corner of the shop and who was she to know really, that this was the start of something life changing.
"I really shouldn't have." She grumbled to herself as she stared the now polished wood with pile open pile of unwrapped bubble wrap sitting at it's curved legs.
It truly was a beautiful thing. Perhaps the nineteenth century? Not that she would know, she didn't really pay attention to antiques but something about the writing desk called to her. What she did know about the writing desk was that it was in perfect condition, not single scratch to be seen, that it was clearly intended for a male as it lacked the flowery decoration it's century was knows for and finally, she knew that if she was quick enough she may just get all her money back from the antique dealer and move on as if hadn't just spent half her weeks salary on a desk that she would never use other than late night studying and took up too much room in her small abode.
But still, she simply stared at it more completely conscious of the time ticking away. It wasn't as if she had a hard time financially, she had a full ride scholarship, she getting paid to study on the condition that she work the amount of years she spent studying at the the company that sponsored her and that raked in a grand a week and a job straight out of school, she even had part time job at a small cafe below her apartment. But Elizabeth grew up wearing nothing but hand me downs and knew that money was a privilege, her childhood had made her very reluctant to splurge on herself. If it were for another, there was nothing holding her back but it had always seemed a waste to spend money on things she knew she did not need- like this desk for example.
It was as if the gleaming bronze knobs on its drawers and cubicles were goading her into doing something about its prettiness. With a huff of frustration she turned away from the desk to march towards the kitchen. Normally, she was not distracted by an objects aesthetics but rather its functional properties and she couldn't help but feel as if the desk were some form of demonic entity there to throw her off in some way. Her train of thought caused Elizabeth to snort lightly, it was nothing more than a desk, she really was being absurd.
"I'm probably just hungry. It's been a long day." Opening the fridge she let her eyes roam over the food it held, not particularly interested in it's contents she closed the door once more.
"Looks like it's take out again." She whispered to herself annoyed.
Picking up her cell phone from the kitchen bench she walked into the sitting room that was now half taken up by a desk she half didn't want to search for the plastic card that held the contact details to her favorite Chinese takeout. Finding it atop of the television she swooped it up and dialed the number printed on it and opened one of the drawers in the desk to unceremoniously drop the small card in and shut it.
The phone rung for a while before it was answered in the typical way a business demands their employees to answer a ringing phone. Only this man did not get past introducing himself as her phone let out a loud noise before powering down, it's battery flat. Elizabeth released an annoyed groan from the back of her throat as she tossed it on her only recliner and returned to the kitchen bench to pick up her house phone. With quick steps she made her way once again to the desk to nab the contact details. Opening the drawer she placed it in roughly only pause and stare disbelievingly at the empty space.
Her mind catching up to her she pulled the drawer further out only for it to be empty. "The hell..." Elizabeth whispered, confusion evident in her voice.
The house phone lay forgotten on the carpet at she pawed at every surface of the wood searching for a hidden compartment or nook in which the card could have fallen through. When none could be found she flipped over the drawer she had originally put the card in and had pulled out, expecting the Chinese take away card to fall out. Instead, a letter fluttered down from the previously empty drawer.
For a moment she ignored the letter and instead watched the drawer with narrowed eyes. The letter was too large to miss, too large to hide in the nonexistent nook of the drawer but where had it come from? Setting it down she cautiously picked up the letter, it was parchment, a thick cream colored parchment folded neatly and sealed with red wax. She knew it had to be old, the dealer who had sold the desk to her said it hadn't had a proper owner in over a century. She was holding a letter written and not sent from over a century ago, a piece of history, one that fell from absolutely no where, from a drawer that apparently swallowed things up, from a desk that she could obviously not ignore.
Normal people would have set the letter down, ignored it, or perhaps gave it to a historian for care but Elizabeth didn't. Something in her screamed for her to read it's content and so with little grace she sat down at the desk and with a pen sitting nearby almost savagely tore off the seal and unfolded the letter to read the neatly scripted words of time where penmanship apparently mattered.
To whom it may concern,
I know not of what to do anymore! My sweet and yet so naive sister has fallen pray to a monster of a man! She claimed to love him and knew that their coupling could not possibly receive my blessing and yet she sought to elope with him! Did she do it to spite me? She must have, for how could she not have known that this man only sought to seduce her for her riches. No, she is far too compassionate to do such a thing.
In societies eyes she is a young woman now, I must keep quiet to save her reputation. To pay this man any sum grieves and angers me but for my loving sister? Anything. Yet, it is her betrayal that hurts me the most, I almost cannot look her in the eye. My heart feels pain at the thought that she would so eagerly leave me. I cannot help but feel that were mother or father still here then she would not have fallen so quickly to false charms, that something more precious would have kept her anchored, something more precious to her than I.
She too is saddened, I almost do not want to know the reason. For her sorrow could only be my fault.
I am an unworthy brother,
Lost.
She didn't know why she did it, this man was already dead, his sister too. But, it pulled on something within her. Maybe it was because she had grown up without the love of a family and simply wanted this man to have his. She couldn't possibly change the past but she felt need to do something it didn't matter that it would not effect anything she simply wanted to reply to this Lost. So pulling out a piece of printer paper and the nearest pen she started writing.
Lost,
You will never get the chance to read this and for that, I am sorry. But, if you could read this I would say, she loves you more than anything else. Your sister, despite everything obviously told you of her intent to marry this fiend and doesn't that speak for itself? You came first! In her supposed love for this man, her thoughts were on you!
Don't be sad, I would bet you anything that she is simply sad because she believes she has disappointed you. You who have clearly raised her without the help of your parents that you still grieve for, mean the world to her. Smile and comfort her and let yourself be comforted and know that a young heart in love is a fickle heart in love, they are meant to be broken. It was her first love, something that will always be remembered but never repeated, you know she did not mean to hurt you, let her know that.
You are a caring man who loves his sister with all his heart, why is it so hard to believe that she could not love you with all of hers? There are thousands of men in the world and only one you, trust me, you are more important than whatever you believe out ranks you in your bid for your sisters affection.
I wish I could have done more for you,
Grieving for your loss.
Observing the bright and sparkling ink of her neat and practical writing she folded up the letter and tossed it in the drawer and closed it with a saddened sigh. Why did she even bother?
