short fiction · 2026-10-19

The Postman's Silence

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

Every morning, she watches the lane for the familiar step, the rustle of envelope against thigh. The postman comes, his bag light, his whistle absent. She knows the weight of nothing: how absence can press harder than presence, how a day without a letter can feel like a season. She keeps the windowsill clear, a space for what might arrive—news, forgiveness, a simple "I am well." The wind moves the curtains, but brings no paper. She learns to read the sky for signs, to listen for the click of a latch that never turns. Still, she waits, not because she hopes, but because the habit of waiting is the only letter she has left to send.