Faded Letters Novels & Stories

Faye's POV Friday came faster then I had anticipated, but I still made no decision to go back to school after what happened. It's not because of the reason that I'm scared or anything, no, I feel like not going to school because I'm not ready to go back there as the old Faye. The one who will always choose to see past the damage and accept everything that has been happening around me as if it doesn't feel wrong at all. When I decide to step foot back on Pendleton high grounds, it's not going to be the old Faye anymore. It's going to be the real Faye, the one whose been holding back all this time, being trapped under the fake good girl facade for years.

But no one left letters anymore, not like this. A cold thought crept in, unwelcome but sharp. Someone else. My hands felt unsteady as I slipped a finger under the seal. The paper tore with a soft hiss, too loud in the silence. Inside was a single sheet, folded neatly. I unfolded it, my breath slowing, my chest tightening. Six words stared back at me. “You will never be Luna.” The letters were thick, written with a heavy hand, as if the pen had been pressed too hard into the page. Below it, smaller, as though whispered even through ink:

TRIGGER WARNING! MATURE CONTENTS AHEAD THAT MAY INCLUDE NON CONSENTUAL ACTS. READ AT YOUR OWN RISKS ‘YOUR SCHOLARSHIP HAS BEEN REVOKED’ Even though those dreadful words were written in black font, all I could see was red. Those were the first words I read of the letter. Tears built up at the brim of my eyes, but I had no energy to let them out. ‘Due to some financial issues our company is facing, we are sad to let you know that you will no Longer be a part of our Fly Wings plan’ the rest of the letter read. The other letters were letters of apology, one having my one-way ticket back to my country.

Letter by letter. "I SEE YOU"

"Let the past stay in the past. There's no point chasing old memories." I turned to him and found myself smiling and nodding. … When I got to my desk the next morning, several bouquets were waiting for me, along with a note written in a handwriting I knew all too well. "Megan, I thought about what you said, and I'll wait until the day you forgive me."

It's the night before the college entrance exam. I pack and move out on the same day because I have already been admitted to Starward University through the guaranteed admission program. I also give all my notes and almost-new belongings to my roommate, Sonya Bradshaw, who's from a poorer family. For the past three years, I'd practically covered all of her living expenses, fed her yummy food every day, and even let her come along to my expensive extra tuition classes for free. Sonya has already turned to leave the dorm as I am leaving. However, she suddenly stops in her footsteps and turns to look at me. I assume that she's just going to say something mushy about parting with me, but t

Trembling, he walked over and reached for the ring he had placed on my finger before witnesses. For seven years, I had never taken it off. But now, it was sitting here. He then picked up the paper, and the words "Divorce Agreement" stared back at him. His tears fell, staining the characters on the paper. That was my handwriting, etched into his soul. But those words felt like a knife to the heart. [I am willing to leave everything behind. Let us part ways with no hard feelings and never see each other again.] At the bottom, my signature was bold and resolute.

] There were three messages in total. The most recent one was written half a year ago. Then, there was no further message. Those fonts were of the recent American fonts. They had also used phonetics and abbreviations in some critical areas. This was also the Internet habit of modern American society. Even if the trialists looked at these words, they would surely fail to understand them. “Channing Henderson died!” “Shirley Hancock lost a hand!” Alex and the Mystic Maiden looked at each other for a while and could not help feeling heavy-hearted.

I loosen my fist, fingers aching, and the notes flutter down to the floor. I pick them up slowly. Gently. Like they’re made of glass. Or bombs. The first is short, matching crooked handwritten from the last note. ‘You stopped reading my letters, it makes me so sad. So sad I might just come and take you.’ It’s true.

So, anyway, after a battle against words, I came out as a winner. Well, almost. I started reading my notebook without feeling the immediate need to hide, throw up, or drive my car into a tree. Almost, because even to this day, I still have problems with one letter of the alphabet. D. Fun fact: that damn letter has most of the negative words underneath it, and many of them are in red. Damage. Decay. Dirt. Distress. Disgust. Depression. Disease. And my most dreaded of all. Deadly. Dead. Death.