A short story by Lake District based author Nisha P Postlethwaite. This short fiction piece tells the tale of an ageing woman coming to terms with her past.
There was a room in her house with a large oak door. The door had a key that she rarely turned. Behind the door was a suitcase that she never unpacked. The suitcase was scuffed and had seen much better days.
There was a pair of trousers in the suitcase she could not pull past her knees. In the trouser pocket was a torn cinema ticket from their very first date. That date blew into a whirlwind and blossomed into love. That love aged and declined into forgotten fervour.
There was a silver frame in the suitcase, tarnished with time. In the frame was a photo of a vivacious young woman. The woman smiled with her eyes and laughed from the heart. She was bare of responsibility and wore invincible youth.
There was a large brown envelope in the suitcase that she had sealed with a lick. The envelope contained letters written before people forgot how to write. The words on the letters captured every feeling there was. Those feelings were forgotten as everyone left.
There was a well-worn jumper in the suitcase she had knitted herself. The jumper still smelled of his skin - safe, reliable, familiar. Many a time she found those traits irritating, but if she could turn back time, she would take it all back.
There was a journal in the suitcase bursting with thought. She wrote in that journal her ideas and expectations. Yet the future passed her and she was standing still. It was only then she realised that time did not wait.
In her house was a suitcase that she never unpacked. It was a relic that reminded her of everything lost. One days she decided the room was too good to waste with old baggage. So she took out the suitcase and put it out with the waste.