Originally posted 25 Oct 07 Thursday
Just imagine - Picture it.
The young girl sat alone facing the computer screen in an all but pitch black room. Her short cropped red hair drips in her eyes, cold water from a long bath still clinging to the strands. She looked at the email she was trying to compose to an old friend, just as she had been for more than a half an hour. His email address was visible at the top of the composition in the 'to' field, but the body of the email remained blank. For some reason, the email just wasn't typing itself.
How should she start this letter? The last time they spoke was more than eight months ago and she had been very angry with him. In retrospect, she realizes that she had done the typical female thing to do and had blown things slightly out of proportion. Now she needed his help, and there was no way her personal pride and arrogance were going to get in her way. She needed his help that badly. Without it, there was a possibility of loosing everything she held dear. She was at her wits end, and knew that he was her only hope.
She swallowed hard.
And her fingers grazed the keys...
"I'm sorry."
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