Act, not React

It’s a letter lying alongside the gravelled street, soaked in wet mud. It’s a parchment having a broken seal. It has two folds. I look at its backside. Written in large hand-written text, it reads:

To Queen Doreen

I don’t know who she is. Since a Queen is the letter’s recipient, its contents inside should be significant. Should I read what’s written on it? What if Queen Doreen realised that I read her letter? Would she forgive me for my wrongdoing, now that I have her letter in my hand?

Fear fills me, spiky pores create goosebumps over my skin. I’m scared for what I might do next. But curiosity gains control and I am unable to resist the urge to read the contents of the letter. My hands tremble as I lift it. As I reach to open it, I see something else written on the front side. It’s small and would’ve been overlooked by most people. But I see it, the letters crafted in cherry-brown colour over an orange background. A chill strikes through my spine when I read the words:

Open at your own risk

Is the letter enchanted? Has someone cursed it with a spell? I can’t think of anything else. If the letter was already open, I think whatever curse was set on the letter, if opened by anyone except Queen Doreen, must’ve unleashed its horror on the one who opened it. Should I take my chance? I find it hard to believe, but on second thoughts, I think my mind seems to have started playing games with me. Or is it the curse itself? I decide not to open the letter. I think my eyes shouldn’t see the words inscribed on it. But if I’m asking who Queen Doreen is, and where can I find her, what would they say? I’m only a boy of sixteen.

What if I hand it to my father? What will he do with it? What if he opens it? No. He shouldn’t open the letter. The curse might unleash an unknown horror on him. It might even kill him. No. Neither can I give this to my father, nor mother. Losing my parents would be the last thing before the world is swallowed by darkness.

The right thing would be to search for Queen Doreen, asking people who and where she is. If I succeed, I shall then decide whether to present this letter to her or not. Now is not the right time for showing this letter to anyone. I tuck the letter under my leather belt my father had crafted for me not a week ago for my new clothes I wear today. And it is when I begin to consider why I was destined to get new clothes in the first place.

This post is inspired from The Daily Post’s Writing 101 June 2014 Challenge – Day 05: Be Brief

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