Dearest John

January 18, 2012 at 2:32 pm · Filed under Mostly fiction, Stories ·Tagged author, Charles L. Mashburn, dearest John, http://bluebellbooks.blogspot.com/2012/01/short-story-slam-week-19.html, story

This is part eight of the continuing saga, The Last Grain of Sand, which I began via a prompt at Bluebell Books’ Short Story Slam several weeks ago. The seven previous parts are available by clicking on the links at the bottom of this post. This new segment is being posted to Bluebell Books’ Short Story Slam, Week 19, and it’s titled Dearest John. I hope you enjoy this newest segment in the adventure!

Dearest John:

Anna knelt beneath the tree, praying silently. Birds fluttered then nestled into the dead limbs above her. It was dusk, nearly dark, and as she prayed, she could hear the waves lapping gently on the rocks of the nearby Pacific shore.  

She opened her eyes as a beacon swept over her, illuminating the compound yard, the rocks, and sea beyond the fence; the pristine blue waters shimmered in its glow.

The lighthouse at the tip of the island, she knew to be real, though its purpose had changed. It was a guardhouse these days, and below it were barracks where the men were kept. At night they could be heard singing—always the same song—their voices low and reverent in tone. She prayed it was where they’d taken John. She prayed he was still alive.

The fence dividing the island was tall. Solar generators ran during the day to supply power to the island. The women on this side were allowed to roam free, and ventured often to the fence in hopes they might glimpse, even for a moment, one of the men they listened to each night. They saw no sign of life and agreed among themselves the men were never allowed outside during the day.

A tear slipped down Anna’s cheek, and the worn piece of paper she held in her hand fluttered in a sudden gust of wind. She looked down at it, wondering would her husband’s eyes ever fall upon the words she’d written:

Dearest John:

I awoke as the last of them was leaving my room, and he turned and saw me staring at him. I suppose if I’d remained still, they would have left me there, but I can’t be sure. I don’t know if they found what they were looking for, but if they did, they knew exactly where to look, for they were stealth during their search. It was not them who awakened me; I awoke with a sense of dread from a bad dream. I dreamed that you were… gone.

I was not harmed, and they’ve not mistreated me, although I suppose being held in this camp is harm and mistreatment. The rooms are comfortable, we are allowed to roam freely, and conversation is not monitored; not that I have detected, at any rate.

There are men on the other side; we can hear them singing softly at night. I pray you are there and safe. I sense that’s where you are; I can feel you.

If this note finds its way to you, please, know I love you. The person in charge here asked me if I would die for you. I said yes, and she laughed. I will if it comes to that.

I love you!

Anna

P.S.  I am not afraid

Anna heard soft footsteps, and when she stood and turned, a young guard was striding purposefully toward her, the brown suit she wore nearly invisible in the settling night.

The young woman placed a finger to her lips and whispered, “Be quiet. I want to help you.”

Copyright © 2012 C. Mashburn

Previous parts of this story:

Part one: The Last Grain of Sand

Part two: Hope

Part three: Like a Fairy Tale

Part four: Then There Were Three

Part five: Cinnamon

Part six: L. Aliens in the Morning

Part seven: Dearest Wife

Part nine: L. Angel

Part ten: The Books

Part eleven: Play Money

 

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