An atlas per square meter

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 He put a coaster made of roughened deer bone under his cup of gin. The little hut had only two bulbs. One flickered at times and the other one lit up to only quarter its strength. The tiny place always seemed lit with candles always on the verge of going out.

He shifted the dead broken star that he kept as paperweight and took the tinted letter in his hands - his large hands with long fingers and dainty fate lines. "Fragile be the fate", she used to say.

He read the letter again, squinting in the dim light but frankly he remembered it all.

"Dear Pansy,

Offended? Bet you would be if you knew what it meant. Anyway, you will have food in the cupboard and look out every evening, around 5-ish. Solum will bring your laundry. Leave the door open and go for your walk or something. Let Solum clean the house properly."

He skimmed through the rest of the page. God! She could write about the mundane. Some switch here, some nail there, the adorable cluster of daisies somewhere else...He would return to this later. 

He poured some more gin, lay down on the floor and read the part he loved. How they had met, how between them they had the hair of woven sunlight and indigo ropes. How she had spoiled everything for him. How she had always loved him. How she almost destroyed him but later threw away the gun and came home to weave him a sweater. How he got fed up, left, and fell in love with another woman. How his brain froze. How his heart crumpled. And his body descended into decay like sand in an hourglass. 

He always closed his eyes around here. The next part was the only part he remembered clearly before he started forgetting everything, including her. He remembered the scent of oranges and jasmines. He remembered the black lace dress and the backpack made of taffeta - so ridiculous and pretty that it looked like wings.

She had saved him. Set him up. Looked around the world they had built together. Then she had kissed his hand and said goodbye.

"I have left something fresh in the shed. It will be ridiculously horrible without me but do go on. I am leaving my lucky star with you. Don't kill it okay? And I'm taking the 'N'."

And then Pansy got up, the way he had since the last 15 years. He walked to door and felt the rusty copper lettering on the wall. "Everland", he read.

He came back inside, sat on his chair and finished the rest of the letter.

"For your own good, Pansy...someday you'll understand.

Love, 

Tinkerbell"


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