​Empty Letters

The letters laid out before me span dates starting from just before my birth far into the future. A mild mildew smell emanates from them. A consequence of their storage. I grab the most recent letter and tear it open.

There is nothing.

I grab another.

Tear it open.

There is nothing.

I open envelope after envelope searching, hoping and praying to find a letter inside. But once all have been torn apart the only things left are scattered fragments of envelope. What does it mean? Why would all these empty letters have been sealed, stored and addressed to me? Containing hope but delivering nothing.

I sit back, out of breath and coughing from the dust I’ve shook up.

They say your fate has been written. Yet you have free will to alter and change it along its course. Its an impossible juxtaposition isn’t it and it’s reflected in the empty letters. Something’s been written but I can’t see it. I can remember but I can’t foretell. I can act based on previous experience, gained knowledge and my desires.

As I turn the thoughts over in my head I notice the torn up envelopes are beginning to move as if a subtle wind is blowing through the room. Slowly it picks up, giving more life to the paper pieces until they are blowing up and around me. I rise to my feet as fear grips me. The wind gathers more force and soon the papers swirl around me grazing my skin and slicing it open with tiny paper cuts. The pain is becoming unbearable as they move faster and faster and faster until a final clap and everything falls to the floor.

I open my eyes which I had been shielding from the paper cuts. My hands both clenched into tight fists, blood slowly streaming down and dripping onto the floor, leaving red splotches on the torn envelopes at my feet. I slowly unclench my fists and find a piece of paper in each hand. A single word on each.

You. Can.

I can what?