literature

The Letter

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Literature Text

The letter was the smallest money could buy, but to Allen it felt much, much lighter. Rather than burning a hole in his pocket, or weighing it down like lead, the almost imperceptible weight left him paranoid, constantly sliding his hand inside his jacket to check that it was still there.

He felt ridiculous, meandering the empty sidewalk at a quarter to nine in the evening, still dressed in his black pinstriped work suit. His hand floated out of his jacket, and fumbled with the already perfect knot of his green satin tie - a gift from his girlfriend, and patterned with four leaf clovers. It was the one that made his co-workers laugh, and tell him with a playful wink that if it were not for his gravity defying black hair and dark almond eyes, they might have taken him for an Irishman.

Allen knew it was silly, but he had quite taken to the tie, and it had now been completely integrated into his courtroom routine.

Perhaps it had been overkill to begin the morning with not only his shamrock tie, but his dragonfly handkerchief and his horseshoe ring as well, but it was today of all days that Allen wanted to be lucky.

To be honest, he had no idea why he was still walking. He had already passed three post boxes - the last of which was two blocks ago - but barely paused to notice. His car was still parked in the firm’s lot, and as the light turned green and he crossed the empty street, Allen began to think it might be staying there overnight.

A short flurry of wind set eucalyptus leaves (and a few gum nuts, to a lesser degree) in willy-willies around his feet. Allen’s hand automatically gravitated to his pocket, but the slightly creased paper could only reassure him briefly. His fingers brushed the perforated edges of the stamps (the pre-sticky kind).

The last thing he needed was, after he had finally plucked up the courage to pen the damn thing, for it to somehow disappear into postal limbo.

Today was the six month anniversary of the day that Allen’s own elegant closing remarks had set a allleged con-man free.

Today was also the anniversary of the day an innocent young woman lost her last hope of recovering her life’s’ savings. She had lost over one million dollars in crooked investments, plus legal costs across the year of the trial; first in civil court, then in the criminal.

Allen had been brought in as part of the new team after the jurisdiction transfer, recommended for his two semester dalliance in civil law - outdated but still useful. He had been relatively new to the firm - he still was - and somewhat of an unproven force, but under the guidance of those much more experienced and world-wise than himself he had learnt quickly. Devoting himself to whatever way he could assist, Allen kept himself busy behind the scenes, and rarely, if ever, actually met his client.
Except once.
With the head attorney caught in a board meeting, and the rest of the crew in a frantic rush to tie up any loose ends before tomorrow’s session, Allen found an overflowing mustard file being shoved into his hands and his feet pointed in the direction of the conference room, where a stout man with a tattoo of a dolphin on his left wrist twiddled his thumbs and waited. In a breathless twenty minutes, Allen enlightened the man as to their planned tactics and main arguments. Smiling broadly as he brought the discussion to a close, his client leant back in his chair.

The wheeled office chair creaked under his weight. “Sounds good,” he said with a small smile of his own.

Allen nodded. “It should be, sir.”

The client smiled in return as he stood to leave. “I put my trust in the right people.”

Allen felt a flush of pride.

Two weeks later, he sat in the same chair, his fingers frozen above the keys of his laptop.

Seated in court the next morning, Allen had felt his stomach glowing as his words were recited verbatim before the defendant, the accused, and a jury of their peers.
And when barely four hours later the same congregation reconvened, he had rejoiced at their success.

But one glance to the palls across from him, and the shattering heart of a woman his own age was branded in his mind.

The happiness in his own chest collapsed to nothing like a sand brick to dust.

As long as the nights he spent sitting in his threadbare, second hand thinking chair beneath the light of his brass reading lamp stretched out to be, that moment played on in Allen’s mind. The polar conflict between his reaction and hers left him pondering.

Why was it that he did what he did?

Was he fighting for the freedom of innocent people? No, it would have been ridiculous to even broach the subject. His occupation had been merely a means to an ends – the final goal a flimsy green paycheck that would only sustain him so long, until the cycle began again.

Allen had never been asked to form a personal judgment regarding the guilt or innocence of his clients, nor had he the thought to do so himself. Sitting at before his laptop, it had seemed an fascinating academic debate that pitted two sharp minds against each other, just as it had since his first day of law school (and even before then, in his imagination)
But one look into the eyes of one he had been so eager to discredit, and the entire process was humanized in a way that he could not discount.

Allen couldn’t make things better for the woman – it was far too late for that. Indeed, almost anything he could do at this late stage would have been a lost cause.

But even if he wouldn’t help her, and even if his words; his ineloquent apology; were likely to be futile, perhaps never even read, the least he could do was try.

Allen retracted his hand from his jacket, and buttoned it against the growing nighttime wind. Trying to remember the location of the next post box, he pressed onward into the dark.
Sooo...a three hour effort on a 1K piece describing a journey (either emotional or physical...this is kinda both) for my english class.

I find it quiet interesting that the guy I wrote about here is actually the same guy I wrote about three years ago for crime fiction, only transplanted to a different continent and aged down about five years. Allen Chen... superstitious defense lawyer extraordinaire.

I know this could be better, but I'm probably never going to edit it, and I like the essence of the character I get here. Don't know if you guys will get the same thing, but meh.

It's really awkward when you try to write about the place you were born, and suddenly you can't remember what the trees along your street were called because the last time you were told was maybe ten years ago. In a cut line, I spent fifteen minutes researching Australian stamp denominations, and how much it would cost to send a basic letter from Perth to Queensland (60 cents, in case you were wondering).

My half-yearly exams are coming up, and it's a bit daunting to realize that when they do I'm going to have to write a piece of this length in just 40 minutes, with an unknown source material that somehow has to be 'insightful' about 'the journey'. Therefore, if I can get any feedback on this piece in regard to the 'best bits', I can get an idea of what to *make sure* I use in the exam.

tl;dr, what's your favorite part?

Thankoo!!

:blowkiss: :blowkiss: :blowkiss:


ps, a friend showed me her response to this task - SECOND PERSON. YEAH. I HAVE TAUGHT PEOPLE SOMETHING. YAY.

(now I just have to get back into it myself....lol)
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Damn it, you've gone and done it again, making me experience all these touchy-feely emotion things I keep hearing about. (╯°□°)╯︵ ┻━┻
In all seriousness, though, I quite liked this piece. You took a character I never met before, made him seem real, then took in one step further and made me actually like him, flaws and all. Well done!