Write a short story story that only has:
4.) Or a beginning, middle and end but in the wrong order.
This was the prompt I was given at my most recent writer’s group meeting and I took this prompt and created a mind-twisting story out of it:
Synopsis: “A young man in prison writes letters to the love of his life and believes he may be stuck in a time loop.”
Enjoy this psychological and heartbreaking piece.
by Kendall Beaver
I can’t remember the last time I saw my lawyer. What was his name? Jim…no, James — “Jimmy, boy” is what he told me to call him. I can’t remember our last conversation but I’m looking forward until I get out of here. The calendar on the wall, outside of my cell says December 6th. There’s a guard named Billy who slashes out the days. Only two more years to go before I can see the sun and you again, Rayna.
I haven’t heard back from you in awhile, it seems like. Is your hair getting longer? Do you still think of me? I want you to know that I meant it when I said that I’mma do something with my life when I get out. Make you proud. Do what I gotta do to support and protect you. But do it in the right way. I can’t be making dumb choices again. I’m done with that shit.
Anyways, it’s getting late and I’m pretty exhausted for some reason. I’ll write again tomorrow when I have more energy, and I’mma paint a picture of what our future will look like. You know me, I got quite the imagination and know how to dream up things that will never come dream. But Disneyland’s no different lol. Anyways, sleep tight. Love you forever, baby.
Today seemed kinda long, but I don’t remember much about the day. My cell mate Vincent was telling me ’bout his family. He’s a loud mouth mutha’ fuckin’ Italian and comes from a loud mouth mutha’ fuckin’ family. Figures. Wish his stab wound had killed this mutha’. Vinny went to a mass service this morning. You’d never figure him to be the Catholic or religious type but he swears that he believes in god. I went to mass with him once when he was new. Preacher was boring as fuck, talking ’bout how we’re in control of nothing, only god’s in control of everything. If that’s true then the big man upstairs made a dumb mistake and gave us too much control of our lives.
Anyways, I’m pretty tired. I can’t stay up. I’ll write you again tomorrow.
P.S. – I just noticed the calendar in the hallways and it’s December 6th. Can’t believe Christmas is almost here. Then it’ll be another year. I’ll be that much closer from leaving my solitary confinement.
December 6th, 2019
Something weird happened today. I went to the library and found this book about Buddhism. I flipped through the pages and saw some language I didn’t understand, then I came to the check-out log at the end and noticed that I’d checked out this book twice already on November 27th, 2019. The inmate on duty assured me that some idiot stamped it twice and I signed both lines. I don’t trust him. Think he’s a KCK punk bitchass.
I’ve felt drowsy all day. I’m heading to bed early. Will write you tomorrow. Love you always.
I haven’t heard back from you but I know it’s not you. I think the warden and his officers are reading my letters and trashing them. There’s a conspiracy going on. This might sound crazy but I think that time is in a glitch and its repeating itself only during the evening hours because that’s the only part of the day that I can remember—I can’t remember the last time I woke up. But I’m not part of this glitch, I’m the only one who’s moving forward while everyone’s stuck here. Actually, I need to keep this letter for my record. I’ll write you another one.
A nurse told me they changed my dose and brand of medication. The last prescription was affecting my “cognitive ability,” they say. I asked Billy about the calendar outside, how it seemed faded for something so new. He laughed and told me that he forgot ’bout it — he nor anyone aint touched it in weeks. It’s January 20th he tells me. A whole new year passed just like that. I really thought I was living in a time loop but it was just my mind that was the loop.
It’s fucking pathetic when you think ’bout it, how fucked up our minds can be, how it can play tricks on us… I’m awake but I’m not actually living or doing anything when I’m awake. I breathe and eat like everyone else but I don’t provide anything for myself. I’m like a baby, I’d die if no one was nurturing me. All the men in here would.
Secretly, I wish that time was in a loop and never went forward. No one but you knows I exist. Not even time nor space knows I exist. But here I am, part of this so-called-universe…
This is my farewell letter to you. You need to forget ’bout me and move on with your life. Find someone who can actually provide you with food and shelter — someone who can give you real love and hold you. Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me and I hope you feel the same way, too.
December 5th, 2019
I’m writing this letter because I need to get something off my chest. First off, I’m so sorry for your lost. I’m beyond devastated—beyond heartbroken to hear about Rayna’s death last week. I don’t know how I can live anymore… I’d NEVER want her to kill herself for anything or anyone, especially me. I’ve been crying for days. They got a shrink to check me out. She’s prescribed me something I’d never heard of, but it’s supposed to keep me from lashing out at people. I took my first dose about an hour ago and feel immensely calmer and quite drowsy.
I know I’ll never be the same again. No one will make me as happy as Rayna did. I pray that if there is an afterlife I’ll get a chance to glimpse at her one last time before I make my way downstairs. Rayna’s an angel. I never deserved her.
I know you’ll always hate me no matter what I do or say, but I want you to know that I’ll never forget your daughter. Her memory and spirit will always live within me. I constantly play memories of her and she’s all I’ll think about for some time. You raised her right. I wish I had you as parents instead of my miserable old man.
I don’t know how but I’m going to make everything right. I’m going to get right with myself. I’ll study spirituality and find my calling. Maybe I’ll be a psychologist once I get out so I can help young kids from making the same mistakes I did. No one should ever end up like me again.
Mark my words, I will be a better man. This is my promise to you and Rayna.
Click here to find out more information about my writer’s group, the StoryStarters Group.
Stock photography by Donald Tong on Pexels.com.