Experimenting

I had no idea what I would write today. I simply sat down at my computer, selected a name, Anna, and began. The following is the result.

Anna woke up early, much earlier than usual, and stumbled toward the kitchen in search of salvation. Armed with a steaming cup of freshly brewed tea, she sat quietly at the wooden, kitchen table and stared through a filmy window at the barren lawn that lay brown and neglected in the winter cold. At the far edge of the expanse were trees, naked, dark, and appearing like a line of still and silent sentinels barring anyone’s entrance to the place. It was a tranquil setting even in its coldness for it bore the face of familiarity, and to that end, calmed Anna’s anxiety.

Today was the day. She would tell Liam the truth and she would do it the only way she knew how, by writing. She reached for the pen and paper she had garnered from the library just last evening and began. Her intention had been real even the night before, but words had failed her then. She could not let that occur again, for if she did, she would be trapped and launched into a world she feared she could not abide.

She remembered Liam’s words, sincere, serious, and spoken weeks earlier. “I want you to marry me, Anna. Please say you will. I’ll take you away from this place. We’ll live in the city where you’ll have all you could ever wish to have. I have the means. I’ll make you happy.”

Liam’s eyes had bored into her. They were dark and shining with emotion. Anna had been swept up in the moment by his candid plea. In some ways he must have been as vulnerable as she, for his lip quivered and his fingers were clutched together awkwardly.

“He is handsome indeed,” Anna had thought, “unnervingly so.”

“All right,” she had whispered. “I will. I will.” It was a lie.

Anna had watched uneasily that day as Liam left her house, the one her father had bequeathed to her five years before.

“I’ll be back in two weeks,” he told her, planting a tender kiss on her cheek.

She was to be ready. She was not.

So it was then, in the morning stillness, Anna’s pen touched the piece of parchment to put into words what she could articulate no other way. She began to write: “Dear Liam, It is with admiration and regret . . . “