Writing 101: Day Sixteen: Secret Writing

This is not exactly meeting Day 16 prompt, but I’m going with what inspires me. I’ve recently discovered micro writing. (More on this interesting subject in another post.)

However it does follow the thread of my story from Day 5: Be Brief. If you would like to read it here. .https://deliawrites.wordpress.com/2015/04/18/writing-101-day-5-be-brief/

Jean rushes down the street, her heels almost catching between the cracks in the pavement.

Knocking on the door, checking the envelope again and again to ensure she has the correct number. After what seems an age, a beautifully dressed lady answers the door.

‘I’m very sorry to disturb you Mam, it’s just , I found this , well rather it found me.’ She hands the letter to the lady. ‘I thought you should have it, is this your son?’

The lady clutched the door handle, and steadied herself, hand to her heart. ‘Both my boys went to war, some would say I’m lucky , one returned. Won’t you come inside out of the wind dear, and I’ll explain.’

Jean was late for her bus home, another bus would be past soon. She was intrigued by this beautiful, yet mysterious woman, and hoped the young man in the letter had survived to return home to his mother.

‘Alright, thank you, as long as I’m not imposing?’ She said politely.

The lady put the kettle on the stove, lit a cigarette and offered one to Jean.

‘No thank you, I’m asthmatic.’

The lady quickly butts out her own. ‘Tea?’

‘My name is Jean Simpson, nice to meet you.’ Taking a sip of her tea from the delicate tea cup.

‘My name is Ingrid Butler. I know my son wrote this letter. More importantly to the Government is what is written on the back of this stamp.’ Ingrid proceeds to the stove and holds the letter over the boiling steam from the kettle.

Jean wonders why she hasn’t pulled the letter out. Wouldn’t this letter be more important to a grieving mother, than some sort of code the Government has an interest in?

Ingrid grabs the magnifying glass from the side cabinet and begins to read.

‘Ah, yes, my boy, you’ve found it! My smart, clever boy. You’ve been through so much, yet you found it!’ She’d almost forgotten the young girl was standing there, looking shocked, yet intrigued at the same time.

‘I need your help.’ Ingrid asked Jean, suddenly.

‘My help? You hardly know me, what can I possibly do to assist you?’ Jean said, emphatically.

‘If I tell you what my son has found, and where I’m about to go, you might think differently.’

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