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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2208141-No-Match-for-the-Real-Thing
Rated: E · Short Story · Horror/Scary · #2208141
This one is for a very specific audience...
SCREAMS!!! Contest Entry 12/18/19
Prompt: Uses the words WILD, GLISTENING, SILENCE, CREPUSCULAR, and ANCIENT
414 words

She stared at her computer screen, her morning coffee growing tepid.

She had been exchanging emails with a kind soul who enjoyed her stories, but these were different, wild, concerning. She had tried reason to no avail. She had tried feeling and empathy, but it had fallen on deaf ears. She had tried positivity. Negative. She had tried some quick prayers, but He seemed to have more pressing matters to attend at the moment.

Had her dabbles in darker art dimmed her brightness? Was that why she couldn't help? Had her choices changed her from diurnal to crepuscular? She didn't think so. She seemed to be able to have positive impacts on others, online or otherwise. Why not him?

She felt for him, his family's health, his depression. With silence spanning weeks, she thought she may have helped. That he was doing well. These recent emails told her otherwise, however.

Tears welled in her eyes at some of his anger with her, his frustration. Glistening momentarily, they began to fall.

Her coffee was half empty and cold now. She shivered and raged.

Wasn't the purpose of words to connect? Sometimes she felt it in her writing, the connection of souls. It was powerful and fleeting but there nonetheless. It drew her to the act again and again. Connection could happen in various forms. Funny and flighty, darkness and fears, hopelessly romantic. All of those feelings found homes between her and some others. The electronic display of text was a bridge across countless miles, linking her to people with whom she would never otherwise connect. She found such joy in it.

But why not him? Her bridge had been there, but it had fallen as if it were ancient. It wasn't. It had been there mere weeks before! She struggled to recreate it, but it resisted reconstruction. She lifted brick and stone, working hard to reassemble it, but it kept falling down in a crumble of doubt and despair.

She typed at her keyboard, but it was no use. There were limits to electronic connection, and she had reached one. She hoped he could show his true self to his friends and find a connection that was human and real. One that could give warmth and comfort, not possible with the ocean-spanning medium that limited her.

She reheated her coffee and hoped.
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