When I wrote the letter, I never thought that it would arrive. I never thought that anyone would ever read it.
It was written for me, none else.
But it ended up being written for so many more.
I remember as I came home and saw the first flyer showing the letter, none knew then that it was I who had written it, and I saw that people were hailing it as a true interpretation of life. And society as we know it.
I remember how people went insane trying to figure out what it meant. What the meaning behind it was.
And I remember how it felt when someone finally realized that it was I who had written it.
The first person came and told me that I was going to be rich. And the second one told me that he hated me.
I guess that’s something you have to take as a famous person.
The third person told me that I was created for something bigger than ”all of this” whatever that meant.
And the fourth person told me that I was nothing.
I didn’t care much what these people had to say.
I was still me. The same person who I was before I wrote that letter that was addressed to none.
I was the same person, but the world thought I was a prophet.
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Categories: flash fiction