Post by Tash on Jun 2, 2009 2:30:29 GMT -5
3:30pm. SoMa. San Francisco, California.
Natasha Maria LaVeau parks her car in the underground lot at her apartment, takes the elevator up to the lobby and goes to check her mail slot. Nothing is ever there, but she checks it out of habit.
Keys, keys...ah, little bronze key.
In the lock. Jiggle, twist, rattle, turn.
Well, try and turn.
Fucking lock.
Jiggle, twist, rattle, SMACK.
Turn. Thank you. Open.
And...not empty as usual.
This time there's a letter there. A long envelope. Lots of stamps. Familiar writing.
Eyes wide, she snatches it from the cold metal of the mailbox and clutches it close to her chest for a moment.
Natasha, you are ridiculous. Stop it.
After reading the return address - twice - just to make sure she's not hallucinating (Even though pot shouldn't do that. But then, there was the egg hunt...fucking unicorn.) Seeing things. Reading things. Whatever. She's not.
Tucking the letter into her messenger bag, she hurries up the stairs to her second floor studio loft apartment.
The place is small, but open with big picture windows. There is a small kitchenette, a round dark wood table and three chairs nearby. Across the room there is a small flat screen TV, a floppy looking and short leather couch and a camo printed beanbag. She pulled the letter from her pouch then let the bag fall to the floor absentmindedly, half in a daze and steered herself by memory to the couch her eyes still reading and rereading and rereading the front of the envelope.
Tash curled up on the couch, still clasping the letter, and ripped it open like a five year old would a Christmas present as soon as she was settled. Nimble fingers unfolded the thick sheet of paper, smoothed it out and eager green eyes devoured the sleek scrawling handwriting, breath catching a little in her chest as she read...
"Loro quel sa bello sa il luna, y sa radiante sa il sole,
Visiterò presto....."
Natasha Maria LaVeau parks her car in the underground lot at her apartment, takes the elevator up to the lobby and goes to check her mail slot. Nothing is ever there, but she checks it out of habit.
Keys, keys...ah, little bronze key.
In the lock. Jiggle, twist, rattle, turn.
Well, try and turn.
Fucking lock.
Jiggle, twist, rattle, SMACK.
Turn. Thank you. Open.
And...not empty as usual.
This time there's a letter there. A long envelope. Lots of stamps. Familiar writing.
Eyes wide, she snatches it from the cold metal of the mailbox and clutches it close to her chest for a moment.
Natasha, you are ridiculous. Stop it.
After reading the return address - twice - just to make sure she's not hallucinating (Even though pot shouldn't do that. But then, there was the egg hunt...fucking unicorn.) Seeing things. Reading things. Whatever. She's not.
Tucking the letter into her messenger bag, she hurries up the stairs to her second floor studio loft apartment.
The place is small, but open with big picture windows. There is a small kitchenette, a round dark wood table and three chairs nearby. Across the room there is a small flat screen TV, a floppy looking and short leather couch and a camo printed beanbag. She pulled the letter from her pouch then let the bag fall to the floor absentmindedly, half in a daze and steered herself by memory to the couch her eyes still reading and rereading and rereading the front of the envelope.
Tash curled up on the couch, still clasping the letter, and ripped it open like a five year old would a Christmas present as soon as she was settled. Nimble fingers unfolded the thick sheet of paper, smoothed it out and eager green eyes devoured the sleek scrawling handwriting, breath catching a little in her chest as she read...
"Loro quel sa bello sa il luna, y sa radiante sa il sole,
Visiterò presto....."
