Spring cleaning had a tendency to unearth past lives she spent years forgetting. Staring at the raggedy shoebox, she felt the lock on the memories turning in her mind.
She picked up the London postcard with the bright red double decker bus. She didn’t have to turn it over to remember what was written on the other side. Before the memories of riding through the city with his hand in hers could escape the lock in her mind, she pushed the postcard aside.
A gasp left her lips as she stared at the charred remnants of photographs underneath. Anger and flames flashed into her eyes. She hurled the box away from her, its contents spilling out to crash on her bedroom floor. One slip of paper floated above the mess, falling to its own gentle tune. Before thinking better of it, she reached out her hand.
The stationery was yellowed with time, but the scent of roses was as strong as the day she sprayed her perfume on it. Like the postcard, she didn’t have to read the letter to know her heart was poured onto it, or that somewhere in the mess, there would be an envelope with the words “Return To Sender” stamped in bold letters.
“Mummy? What happened?”
A child’s voice jolted her from her thoughts. Her gaze fell onto the little girl peeking in the doorway, her curls the same shade of hazel as his, her eyes as clear and blue.
“Just a bad memory, sweetheart.”
© Jade M. Wong 2016
Written for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers, and for November Notes: Day 23 – You Are A Memory, Day 24 – Buses and Trains, and Day 25 – Up In Flames.