(Photo Credit: Crispina Kemp)
The makeshift letter box attached to the fence-cum-gate leading to the house was in danger of collapse. Not that Venky was expecting anyone to write to him. The twin perils of a disruptive digital world and a self imposed existence in isolation combined to ensure that neither post office nor postman would be subject to any trouble conveying messages in the written medium.
“You must write a book someday. Rather you will write one someday.” Ash had declared once with a conviction that was unreal mixed with a sincerity bordering on the surreal. Shrugging both the thought and his shoulders, Venky had dourly responded with a barely audible sigh.
Now ensconced in a derelict house – close to zero rent being adequate compensation for an absence of civilization – he had commenced to write. But his Ash was not by his side to egg, spur and goad him on.
(Word Count: 149)
Written as part of the Crimson’s Creative Challenge #32 More details regarding this challenge may be found HERE.