Fiction

Death Letters

Photo by Daria Kraplak on Unsplash

The man sat at the same chair he’d been sitting in his whole career. It was old, like him, and made of wood, just like the desk at which he sat.

Before him was an old friend, the trusty little typewriter, upon which all his work had been crafted, at least the first draft.

People often asked why he wrote on the typewriter, and he liked to be mysterious. He gave different…