The Not-So-Secret Letter

“It’s of voluminous importance,” grinned Clark.

“Of epic gutsy proportions?” Sam winked.

They surrendered an envelope containing sensitive information to the school library’s reception desk.

Soon afterwards the original recipient of the letter returned, darting to the health reference shelf. Not there? He wiggled discreetly to the employee on duty.

He explained what he had lost. Classmates peered from vantage points between bookshelves as an envelope landed in his hand.

“Thanks,” he said, “Got to go!”

As he fled collective laughter erupted.

He held the letter closely to his heart—words from his girlfriend who commiserated with his unpredictable diarrhea.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

For the prompts Manuscript and Letter.

Getting Off The Island

“What's the matter, Mel?”

“I'm trying to get help for us, Charlie.”

“But I already put a letter in a bottle and threw it in the ocean.”

“What'd it say?”

“I wrote – ‘HELP, WE'RE ON A DESERT ISLAND. ALL WE HAVE TO EAT ARE COCONUTS AND WASHED-UP FISH.’ Then I gave them our last coordinates before the boat sank.”

“But it didn't work.” Mel had a point. They were still eating coconuts and fish heads. “That's why I've written this manuscript. People should respond to a manuscript.”

“But will it fit in a bottle, Mel?”

“Well, Charlie…That's my problem.”

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

For the prompts Manuscript and Letters

What’s In A Letter?

Uncle Max was as jovial in death as in life, Melinda chuckled.

One by one she discovered his letters by completing a series of navigational instructions from each. Midway through the fifth she froze. Right door, or left? Uncle wrote “the door”.

She decided on the right, but it did not lead her to the 6th letter, and there was no going back. Uncle’s rules.

“What’s in your bag?” she asked her brother.

“Candy, jokes, puzzles. You went through the wrong door,” brother grinned, popping gummy-bears into his mouth.

“Uncle Max should’ve written: Spying not allowed!” she squirmed, walking away.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

For the prompts Manuscript and Letter.

The PI

“You're a dick, right?”

“Come again?”

“A private investigator?”

Mel sat across from Doris Vandergrift in the living room of her mansion.

“I need to find Reginald.”

“Your husband?”

“Yes. As I mentioned, I have a letter.”

Mel scanned the pages.

“I keep seeing – ‘I need more money.’”

“My 87-year-old husband ran off with Rhonda, our massage therapist. She was always after him for money, as you see.”

“But it's not a letter.”

“What'd you mean?”

“It's more like a manuscript.”

“Does that matter?”

“A manuscript? Yeah...To run down the leads in a manuscript costs a lot more money.”

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

For the prompts Manuscript and Letter.

The Permanent Manuscript

Sir Robert, during his quest for the Holy Grail, was struck by a spectacular vision. The images were so overwhelmingly realistic he felt compelled to document everything he had seen as a testament for all future generations. Stopping in the nearest cave, he began carving, with both words and pictographs, the amazing sights he had witnessed. Only by engraving the words deep into the stone, permanently recording his fantastic revelation, would he be certain that not a single letter of his screed could ever be altered. Thus it would forever remain.

Sir Robert liked to make his editor's job difficult.

For the prompts Manuscript and Letter.

The Spelling Bee

It was the Turnersville Third Grade Spelling Bee. Fran Blancowitz squared off against little Mel Fromberg. The auditorium was packed with students, staff, parents, and relatives.

“Mel, spell the word ‘Dog,’ please.”

He managed it slowly.

“Now, Fran, spell the word ‘Letter,’ if possible.”

No problem. 

Next Mel correctly spelled ‘Cat’, after Mr. Atkins, the principal and questioner, used it in a sentence – ‘The cat chased the dog.’

“Fine…Now, Fran, spell ‘Manuscript.’”

She did. But, from the audience, her parents and relatives objected – he was tougher on Susie. 

Mr. Atkins turned to Mel.

“Okay…Spell the name ‘Blancowitz,’ Mel."

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

For the prompts Manuscript and Letter.

Our First Writing Prompt

To celebrate the new website, and the arrival of summer, I thought we could start with a community writing prompt. And we're going to take our cue from the incomparable Fran Lebowitz, seen below in a visit to the Morgan Library and Museum.

The prompt is to write a story that revolves around a letter or a manuscript. Bonus points if you manage both items (but at one hundred words, maybe one is enough). I'm curious to see what you come up with. 

You will find the submission guidelines here. For the month of June I'll be bumping stories that follow the prompt to the front of the line. 

Pretty Persuasion

Sam found the devil's words to be persuasive. "Where do I sign?"

"Right here, fine sir."

As he put pen to paper, Sam paused. "I almost feel bad. It's just too good to be true."

"I assure you every clause will be followed to the letter."

"It's just I don't like to agree to anything unless I feel certain both parties will be happy."

Six hours of negotiation later, the devil finally had the satisfaction of capturing Sam's signature. Never mind a soul was no longer included. He had at least saddled Sam with a lifetime subscription to Satan's Substack.

First Year

As I stood on the beach, I folded the letter, placed it in the bottle and closed the cover. I promised him that every year on the anniversary of his death I would write a letter and throw it into the ocean from his favorite spot. This was the first year.

A tear slid down my cheek as I listened to the waves splashing.

When I threw the bottle into the sea, it made a splash and bounced with the waves.

I watched until the sun set over the water, and the bottle drifted out of sight, seagulls soaring above.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Life

When they were at war, everything was easy. They could yell at each other, throw pillows and then sleep in different rooms, sulking and ignoring each other.

But when they were at peace, the silence became so thick it choked him.

They stayed like this for years, until one morning she woke up and the only thing left of him was the Jasmine tea he drank every evening and a letter on the Fridge.

But her?

She liked to fit people into her world like puzzle pieces so she removed the note, lit a fire and watched it burn, unopened.

From Guest Contributor Will Simon