You discover a letter on a path that affects you deeply. Today, write about this encounter. And your twist? Be as succinct as possible.
Well,to be honest this is not stuff I would prefer writing if given a choice (not that I don’t have one here, but I want to explore different genres and see how I fare writing about different genres). So here’s my rendition of today’s prompt (and twist). Oh, and comments are totally welcome and I would love to hear what you people have to say, especially since I haven’t received a comment since I started this blog.
The mud clung onto my boots and acted as a mild quicksand. The rain only made it worse. My raincoat was to the rain what glass is to a bullet. I checked if my camera had gotten any wetter. I had it tucked deep inside my bag, which was under the cover of my raincoat and though the bag was not very well – protected, its contents were, since it was waterproof. I was in Kerala, taking photographs, researching for a novel I was to write and also meeting a few friends who had settled there.
The rain was pelting down like nothing I had ever seen before. I had to find refuge. I was walking through a field at the moment and a barn – like building was not far off. I just hoped the door was unlocked and the windows closed. I was not disappointed, at least not completely. The door was unlocked, but two of the windows were open. Unfortunately, they were also very stubborn, and refused to budge. I managed to move one window by half an inch or so but that’s about as far as I got.
There was a tractor in the middle of the barn and its innards were as dry as they come. These tractors don’t have doors, so I wasn’t shielded from the brutal wind when I sat in it but keeping away from the rain was way more uplifting. Wet hay, sand, leaves and other rubbish flew in through the barn’s open windows and the floor was very soon strewn with all sorts of garbage. A loose sheet of paper was also among the incoming miscellaneous objects and as it flew in, it flattened itself against the back window of the tractor, just like in the movies, as if I was meant to come by it.
As I observed, it wasn’t just a piece of paper but there was writing on it. What was surprising was that the page was just damp and not soaking despite having travelled in the rain and the ink was still intact. There was writing on it, in Hindi. The handwriting was much better than mine, I must confess.
It was a letter, and unlike the movies I just talked of, it wasn’t addressed to me and it wasn’t by outrageous luck that the letter happened to find me even in this storm risen from hell.
It was just a touching letter written by a son to a father. A letter that made the afternoon less damp and the time spent in the tractor, somewhat worthwhile. If only I could return the letter to its rightful recipient.