2020-04-01 - April Fools

There is a piece of copy paper pinned to the back of Anne's desk in city hall. In bold type-written letters, it reads:

It has been

days since our last Veil related incident

Anne marks another day off on her calendar, reaches for her rainbow Post-It notes, and writes a big 15 in sharpie on the note, and then sticks it on the copy-paper between the two lines. With a sigh, she slumps back into her chair, blue eyes pinned to the copy paper. //It's been 15 days since our last Veil related incident// she reads under her breath, in a quiet whisper to herself, and gives her head a bit of a shake. She should be happy - proud even! - to have made it this long. She hasn't opened a single door, hasn't even so much as called a bottle across the room when she was feeling too lazy to pour herself another glass of wine. But she wasn't.

The world around her seems so very dull and gray, as though it's lost all its color. Maybe she should expect these duldrums, maybe this is all part and parcel with the punishments. But it was exceptionally hard knowing there was an entire world out there waiting to be explored, accessible with just a tiny little push, maybe she could even try again ...

"No," she says suddenly, a little too loud, startling herself. The thoughts get pushed aside as she stares at the pinned paper on her desk. //It's been 15 days since our last Veil related incident// she reads again and again, mouthing the words each time. She couldn't trust herself, opening another door. Who knows where she'd end up this time - and who knows if she'd ever find a way to come back. And she made a promise. She couldn't do that, not to him. Not anymore.

The ringing of the counter bell startles her out of her thoughts. She takes one last glance to the copy paper tacked to her desk and gets to her feet, finding something of a smile as she comes up to the counter. But instead of someone there wanting to fill out city forms in triplicate, she finds a small vase of fragrant flowers and an envelope tucked in amongst the blooms, her name scrawled across the front of the note in Patrick's careful handwriting. Her brows hike up and she eagerly slices open the envelope with her letter cutter, pulling out the note within.

My dearest Anne...

The letter puts her back into the chair, a smile on her lips, her eyes a bit watery. She reads it over and over, soaking in every line, and only when she's memorized it in its entirity does she look away. And for a moment, color returns to the world, brilliant and bright. She folds up the note, tacks it onto the wall right beside her sign, and picks up her phone to call Patrick.