The Withering Tree
Four
The key turned in the lock, and the door clicked open. Gabriel Chernousov shuffled to the dining table, his arms laden with so many paper bags you can barely see the top of his hat (the bags contained mostly vegetables and fruits so it wasn’t quite so heavy).
After a quick shower, Gabriel sat down at his writing desk, pulled out a writing pad from a drawer and began to write. All lights were turned off. The lamp at his elbow threw a pool of light on the pad. It seemed to act as a spotlight trained on Gabriel’s solitude. It acted as a candle in a room with black walls and no windows.
5 five minutes passed. Another ten minutes passed. At the end of forty minutes, Gabriel gathered up his eight-page-long letter, rummaged through another drawer and fished out a brown envelope and slipped the sheaf of paper in.
He sealed the brown envelope with a kiss, and wrote “EVA VODIANOVA” on the front. Then his breath caught in his throat, and it started to get hard for him to breathe. He had realised he did not have anywhere to mail the letter to.
He removed his reading glass and set the fountain pen down on the table, on top of the sealed envelope and went to bed.
He died peacefully that night.
He died like a baby, cradled in the thick, warm bedsheets.
He died dreaming of himself and Eva in 1941, at the avenue. Eva had accepted the love letter with a smile and Gabriel watched her with endearing eyes as she savoured every single word he’d penned with all his heart.
The End.
After a quick shower, Gabriel sat down at his writing desk, pulled out a writing pad from a drawer and began to write. All lights were turned off. The lamp at his elbow threw a pool of light on the pad. It seemed to act as a spotlight trained on Gabriel’s solitude. It acted as a candle in a room with black walls and no windows.
5 five minutes passed. Another ten minutes passed. At the end of forty minutes, Gabriel gathered up his eight-page-long letter, rummaged through another drawer and fished out a brown envelope and slipped the sheaf of paper in.
He sealed the brown envelope with a kiss, and wrote “EVA VODIANOVA” on the front. Then his breath caught in his throat, and it started to get hard for him to breathe. He had realised he did not have anywhere to mail the letter to.
He removed his reading glass and set the fountain pen down on the table, on top of the sealed envelope and went to bed.
He died peacefully that night.
He died like a baby, cradled in the thick, warm bedsheets.
He died dreaming of himself and Eva in 1941, at the avenue. Eva had accepted the love letter with a smile and Gabriel watched her with endearing eyes as she savoured every single word he’d penned with all his heart.
The End.