[Fiction] Friday Challenge #144 for 26th February, 2010
The bag was empty except for a smudged, slip of paper which said, “Sorry.”
The bag was empty except for a smudged, slip of paper, which said, “Sorry.” Jeannie hadn’t touched the precious artifact yet but she could clearly see the letters, crudely written with what she hoped might be what the old ones used to call a ball pen since the word was a faded blue. She wondered at the person who had written that conciliatory word and why the slip had been left in this near-fossilized leather bag.
How could the paper have survived after all these centuries? The word, this single word seemed pathetic, as if its owner had wanted to apologize for all the wrongs humanity had inflicted on itself, nearly destroying its planet in the process.
Jeannie examined the paper, the word, still without touching it. The meaning behind the word was fathomless and full of possibilities.
Six hundred years before
Lisa looked at the single word, “Sorry,” on a torn piece of paper Pete had passed her across the desk in Mrs. Benson’s arithmetic class. Yeah, he’d better be sorry for having broken her favorite pencil, the wretch. With a shrug and a glare at Pete, she stuffed the note into her bag. They’d discuss replacement at recess.