Stories I Shouldn't Tell

- The Echoing Silence The house was always quiet, concealed in stillness so heavy that even the clock hesitated to click. Margaret sat by her window, staring out at the beauty of nature as it once was. She held her hand close to her lap, her fingers curled like withering flowers, silently crying in despair and pleading for help. Outside, the world continued moving, oblivious of the anguish and pain she was holding onto. 

She couldn't remember the last time she spoke out loud. The once beautiful voice she had has slowly faded away, slipping the last words to her family, friends, and him. Him. She missed the way he used to fill the room with laughter and stories, his presence comforting her every day. 

To ease her ache of pain, she would write to him every day, sitting by the window sill, and jotting down her thoughts and agony she had been through. It was a sort of routine - she would write a letter to him every evening at around six. She couldn’t send it to anyone - of course. Who would she send it to anyway? Instead, she would use many wooden boxes that she kept under her bed, and every day she wrote a new letter, she would put it in this box. 

On this particular day, Margaret felt lonelier than an ant without its colony. She was doing the usual routine, sitting by her window sill, looking out at the bright and cheerful village it once used to be.  She silently took out a pen and pulled a piece of blank paper from underneath her bed. She looked at a rather large chair, where it could fit two. It was a little worn down, the color of blue it once used to be was now a light, pale blue. It was a place where Margaret and her husband used to read together, usually the same book, going at different paces. Margaret looked down back at her paper. She didn’t realize until now that her hand was gripping the paper a little too hard, wrinkling the sides. There wasn’t any type of reaction on her face, seeming as if this had happened rather occasionally. Without wasting another minute, she put her pen down and stood up, walking to her bed. There was a stack of blank, white paper there - as always - to fill her need to write a letter. She disposed of the crumpled one, while also picking up a new sheet. 

She sat down back at the window sill, the sunlight slowly fading away, and beautiful rays of orange and yellow shone down at her paper. She stood up and put her paper down where she sat. Margaret looked around as if she had lost something. It wasn’t in haste - it was slow, but with a will to find what she was looking for. Her pen. Where had she put that? She looked around the room, past the bookshelf, past the chair, past the bed, and the window. A jolt woke her brain. She clenched her fists, and sat back down at the window sill, grabbing her pen from the cushion. Margaret knew her memory was becoming worse by the day, sometimes barely remembering what she was going to do. 

A small click rang through the silent, small room when uncapping the pen. She took a second to position herself and wrote:

Dear Ethan,

I still await for you by the window. I will never forget the happiness you gave me and the pain you shared with me. The night is getting cold now, the house is slowly falling asleep. My world is still silent, as we can share the pain together - and today is a night where we all have silent worlds. I shall take my leave now. Rest in peace. 

From, 

Margaret - 8/27/2024

Margaret silently put down her pen and folded the paper three times. She stood up slowly, tiredness filling her up like water flowing into a cup. She grabbed the paper and walked to her bed, kneeling down to grab the box filled with letters she had written. There were many boxes, all filled to the brim with letters. She found a box that could hold another letter and slipped in the letter she had just written. Margaret stood up, hand on her back waist. It had been hurting for a while now - the pain only subsided during sleeping. There wasn’t much she could do - her retirement money was very tight and she couldn’t seem to find any medicine or herbs she could use to ease the pain. She sighed and sat on her bed. She stared at the ceiling for a minute before the silence of the night and the glowing moon lulled her to sleep. 

This was a weird dream. Margaret couldn’t even tell if it was a dream. She looked down. She was stepping on the finest and purest grass known to mankind. It felt smooth - but rough at the same time. The color glinted off the bright sun, blazing down on the plain of grass. Tilting her head a little more, she saw that she was wearing a crystal white dress. It was odd - small pearls laced around the waist and the rest was pure fabric. Unlike a wedding dress, this felt lighter and smoother. It was cool, the basking sun seemed to be in a midday fall. She looked up. It was a garden and seemed to be full of divinity and eternal blessings. A small quartz archway stood amid the green. There was a small shadowy figure standing in the archway, seeming to wear a dark waistcoat and black leather boots. His hands were in his pockets as he turned around sensing Margaret’s presence. He had pure brown eyes and black silky hair. His face seemed surprised to see the face of someone that he recognized here. His emotion turned from surprise to content. Without wasting a moment, he ran toward Margaret. She stood there, happy but confused at the same time. Ethan! It’s me, Margaret! She screamed in the dimension, her voice ringing through the silent plains. Ethan didn’t respond and kept on running toward her. Margaret shrugged it off and ran too - it had been seventeen years since they had last met. It seemed awkwardly silent for a large place like this. Ethan was closing in on the gap now, running faster and faster, his arms open for a hug. Margaret slowed down. It was deadly silent, she couldn’t hear the footsteps of Ethan or the wind blowing the grass or - anything. Has she become deaf too? No - that’s not right. She heard her voice when screaming for Ethan. Voice? She had that? Margaret stopped dead in her tracks. Ethan was a few feet away from her, still running. Margaret quickly scanned the scene. The grass seemed to end after a few meters, seeing nothing but blank white. There weren’t any clouds - no sound and no voice beside hers. Something was wrong, and she knew it. Ethan was deadly close, five feet away. Margaret made a run for it. She turned around, losing a second, but regained it as she sped her pace up, running as fast as she could go. Ethan slowed down, looking at her in dismay. Margaret turned back and snuck a glance. Ethan seemed to mouth the word ‘why’. Margaret slowed her pace down as Ethan started to melt - no - transform. Black seemingly like magma flowed over him, a shadow of a cape was wrapped around the new dark figure, and a scythe melted from the ground flew into his hands. Margaret gulped as the sun became the moon - the grass became the dead weeds - and the arch became a coffin. The only three things in this tiny lone world - have just turned upside down. The reaper smiled a wide grin and in a sudden flash, he sidestepped behind her. Dust of the gloomy realm blew up in the air, crumbling the withered weeds on the once-was-lively plain. Margaret felt a light tap on her shoulder and a stab from behind. 

She gasped herself awake. Her heart was pounding hard, grasping and clawing its way out of her chest. Margaret clutched her heart. It seemed to grow regressive faster. There was a lump on her throat, and she dropped to the ground on all fours. She frantically reached out her arm, grasping a box filled with her letters. Her heart beating grew faster and faster making her feel uneasy. She didn’t know why at that moment she grabbed the box of letters. She didn’t know why she scrambled to the bottom of the box, her arm moving by itself. She pulled out a dusted folded paper, and read it with shaky hands,

Dear Ethan,

I still wait for you by the window, even if I know you would come home every night to make me dinner and give me smiles. There is an odd feeling in my throat - it itches and hurts when I talk. Of course, I wouldn’t tell you this with no medications to fix my throat in this village. Anyway, I see you coming home now - what are we having for dinner?

From,

Margaret - 4/16/2007

Margaret stared at this letter. Her heart seemed to stop at that moment. A flashback of memories crossed her mind, and stung her like a bee. Ethan. I'll see you up there, huh? She thought at that moment. Margaret closed her eyes, and let her hand fall to the ground. Just give me a moment. I’ll be there in a minute. Her heart seemed to finally reach the end of the climb, the beating suddenly slowed down - and stopped. 

Apr 30, 2025 , By Christopher Shaw Buy this book from Amazon - https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FP2YHKR7