Ch.3: The Letter

Amelia's POV

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It's been about three weeks since Cyrus's death. 41 days, 7 hours and 27 minutes to be precise. 41 days, 7 hours and 27 minutes since they found him dead with a bouquet of flowers clasped in his hands. Flowers for me, ones he was rushing to our spot carelessly in attempt to make it before I got there. Every minute seems to creep by slower than the next without him.

"Honey, will you get the mail for me?" My mother calls from the kitchen.

I groan. "Why can't you just drive there? It takes twenty minutes to get there by foot."

"You need the fresh air."

I grimace and stare at the ceiling of my bedroom a while longer. The curtains are shut closed, blocking any ray of sun that tries to peek through. The last thing I want to do is go outside and face the world for the first time since Cyrus left it.

"Amelia, now," my mom snaps.

I trudge out of my room and slip on my favorite pair of boots. My short brown hair sticks up in odd places and looks like birds made a nest with it. I couldn't care less, though.

The air is hot and buzzes with the sounds of insects and birdsong. Trees stand tall and green, while the grass is lush and thriving. Despite the heat, Cyrus and I would be outside the entire day. We would swim in the lake, go bird watching, and pick berries until the sun fell down the horizon, the time where crickets and frogs sung their hearts out.

All of that seems like a fantasy now. It's as if I've woken up from a beautiful dream and plummeted into a nightmare.

I kick a rock absentmindedly as I walk down the road, paying no mind to the things I used to find such joy in. Flowers blossom everywhere. I could sit in a field for hours admiring them, but they only remind me of how and why Cyrus died.

Well, everything does.

By the time I reach the mailbox, I'm drenched in sweat. I don't understand how I could've had so much fun outside at one time, when my house has a TV and air conditioning. I read the addresses to the letters, which are mostly bills for my parents.

But then I come across one addressed to me. I immediately assume it's a 'I'm so sorry for your loss' card, which have gradually stopped after time creeps by. But the address was odd.

In fact, there is no address.

I find a nice tree to sit under before ripping it open. Neat cursive letters are scrawled on a wrinkled and yellowing paper.

Dear Ms. Beaufort,

It has come to our awareness that you've lost a loved one in your life, Cyrus Moore. You have our condolences. But what if we told you that there's a way to have him back? If interested, please arrive at the given address. This is a confidential letter that is meant for your eyes only. Respect this condition and we could give your loved one's life again.

Sincerely,
6852 Alten Road
Richmond, Virginia

My eyes widen. That's an hour from this small town by train. Richmond is a big city, but has changed over the past few decades. Or so I'm told. After all the wars, most of our history has been lost or lied about by the government.
Richmond has a mix of all kinds of people, from the rich and the poor depending what part one is visiting. I've never been there, never left this small town, in fact.

All I know is that America is held together by what's called dictatorship, led by the government, yet with one and only one person in power. I guess it was different many years ago, but the country was left to shambles after so many wars. I don't pay much mind to any of that, since it doesn't really affect me. Some would say I'm a part of the upper class, born into a life of ease and will remain there until the day I die.