It's angst. If you've read my brand of angst before, you know to watch your step. If you haven't, (why haven't you?) then consider yourself warned. Techie branded angst often includes such themes as death, suicide and other things that will make you feel downright miserable.
I was never good at writing letters.
Not even in school when
the teacher would give me an outline for one could I write a letter
properly. Maybe it's some kind of subconscious block or
something. I just can not write a letter the way it's supposed
Maybe it's some kind of subconscious block or something. I just can not write a letter the way it's supposed to be.
But since I can't bring myself to ask you to your face, I figure that this is the next best thing.
I'm going on a mission in less than an hour and there's something inside me telling me that if I don't do this now, I'm going to lose my nerve.
I mean...I've lost my nerve half a dozen times already, which is why I'm writing this letter in the first place. Once it's out on paper and in your hands I can't take it back, no matter how much I might want to because I'm worried that you won't answer the question in the way I hope you will.
And I'm stalling, aren't I?
Yes, yes I am. I'm stalling like crazy.
Alright. Fine. I'm taking the plunge. I'm going to come right out and ask you.
Will you marry me?
She clutched the letter to her chest in the darkness and leaned against the wall of the cave.
The paper was crumpled and torn at the edges and it was her one tie to the past and the only shred of sanity she had left.
The Wraith wiped out the city only days before but it felt like another lifetime, like it was a century ago that the survivors fled to the Alpha site.
She remembered when she found the letter, folded up and waiting for her on her bed after he left the city.
There was a part of her that believed he was still alive. A part burrowed deep inside her chest that believed he'd still come for her.
But there was another part, a trecherous part that insisted that there's no point in hoping anymore.
That part of her that knew he was dead.
There were only a handful of people who managed to make it through the gate to the Alpha site and somehow she became the appointed leader of the rag tag group.
The small group of survivors got even smaller when a virus with influenza like symptoms overcame them and seven of them dropped dead within thirty hours.
But she kept it together.
She kept it together because they expected it of her.
Because she expected it of herself.
But the disaster didn't end there.
No sooner had they buried the dead did a series of Wraith darts come through the gate and they were forced to run for cover in the caves. The darts stole away twelve survivors, leaving her all alone inside the cave.
That was close to fourteen days ago and the darts still hadn't stopped coming. They were still constantly buzzing overhead, that sound like an angry swarm of insects filled her ears at least six times a day, starting to drive her crazy.
She had run out of food and water six days ago and she was really starting to feel it. Her body was under extreme stress and with nothing to nourish it, it started to deteriorate. Her eyesight was blurry and her hands were shaking constantly without anything in her system to help soak up the adrenaline.
The cruelest part of all was that if she could get out of the cave and run for the encampment just a hundred yards away, there was so much food that it would've taken her months to wipe it all out.
But she didn't dare make a run for it. The Wraith darts buzzed by every few minutes outside the mouth of the cave just to keep her herded inside it.
She was beginning to think that the Wraith didn't care about catching her to feed on at all. Their behavior thus far made her believe that they just wanted to starve her to death and drive her insane. She figured it was only a matter of time before they started sending drones to capture or kill her.
So of course, when a shadow fell across the mouth of the cave while she was on watch, she had shot on sight. Not bothering to think that there might be consequences in killing a Wraith.
But there were consequences...because it wasn't a Wraith.
It was him.
What little was left of her sanity shattered when she pulled the body inside the cave and saw his face, saw the eyes that she'd gazed into lovingly so many times before that were now glassy and dull because she had killed him.
Now she sits here in the darkness, his body next to her and his letter held tightly in her wringing hands and she stares straight ahead, wondering how it is that things went so wrong just as they were beginning to go right.
A/N: God am I glad to have that out of my system. This is one of those magical fics where no names are mentioned and you can pretend it's any (het) pairing you want to. Why you would want to imagine anyone in this situation, I don't know, because it's a horribly chilling idea.
Anyways, this is a response to the one hundred first sentences challenge over on the When Plot Bunnies Attack forum. The prompt: I was never good at writing letters.