Postcards: A Final Story Fanfic
note: This fanfic is called "Postcards" and each chapter is a scene described as such to resemble the feeling you get when you are looking at a postcard. It is based on the Final Story and the surprising thing and also the reason I'm posting it is that it starts with the same subject the other two great fanfics based on the Final Story started. I want to stress out that I don't know when I'll get to write some more but I hope maybe with the new fanfics coming out, that my imagination will get a kick in the butt and it'll push me to write. So just to add my personal interpretation on the Final story here it is. I hope you won't get frustrated that it's too short and also that you'll like what you read. I also hope that I'll add more "Postcards" to this one. Thanks in advance for anyone who'll read it!
It was a morning like all other. Though it would be the same routine of waking up, having breakfast before starting on every little important or mundane thing that fills a day like pebbles stacked in an empty sack, this morning was marked before anyone knew it.
Somewhere far, months ago, a thought inside a mind would turn and turn, slowly fermenting over sleepless nights, sipping through and just like with alcohol, the mind of this man would get drunk by that thought.
One moment brings more than a whole yearís worth and it was that thought of a drunken mind that would be born on a paper, be closed in an envelope and travel to its destination. A thought would mark that morning. A letter would hope to change lives.
The young woman was outside, hanging the bed sheets out in the open air. The spring breeze of the plains was stirring the tree brunches and the grass was swaying while the white sheets hanging from the line would blow up like trapped big albatross attempting to escape by flying away.
She stopped what she was doing and fixed her eyes in the distance for a while. Her quiet gaze would mirror her mindís travels. Was it a premonition? Nothing was moving on the horizon. Still, she kept looking. A gust of wind blew her blond curls away from her face, blood rushed to her cheeks and her green dress stuck to her body. Slowly, a manís figure started to show up in a distance...
Several minutes later, the letter the postman brought would be between slender fingers that tingled and sweated as she sat behind the big old tree which was near the orphanage since the time it was built. Under the lush shade, facing the morning sun, and while life was going on around her uninterrupted, completely ignorant of the inner turmoil she was facing, she kept reading the few lines which broke the whiteness of the stiff paper.
Only a few elegant written lines, so few that stood out so much, they reflected even more the weight they carried. One line in particular stood out more than the others. The one that cocooned the manís thought, the one that kept him awake for nights on end, meant only for her.
ďI havenít changed...Ē
Emulating the famous notion of a pen being a sword, she could have sworn that those words cut her through and through. A manís words she hadnít seen for years. The same man she loved like no other although she had fought to stop those feelings. For a noble cause, for him and his happiness. At least thatís what she thought...
Whatever she was feeling now, we couldnít tell. But even in the possibility that love could have faded in her heart, a witness could tell that she wasnít unresponsive by what she was reading. It was the silent tears that streamed in abundance down her red cheeks which would give her up. From afar, she seemed like mumbling. From up close, she was whispering his name.
A marked morning that was...a thought hidden in a few pen drawn words had done it. Who knows each single letter of those words how much emotion carried, fear, or worry, or hope...feelings turned into a tide, and like tide, when it passed, nothing was the same any more...on the morning that was like all other...