Alice sat on her favourite chair in the bay window. Her eye sight wasn’t what it used to be; she couldn’t see things with clarity anymore. But then that was to be expected at her age, especially as she had Age Related Macular Degenerate. Her eye sight had been failing for many years, she had received injections to stabilise the disease, but now the inevitable was happening. She had grown used to the idea that one day she would lose her sight, although the prospect was daunting, living on her own.
She could just make out the feathery shadows of people walking past, but had no idea who it was. She loved to see the postman, his red uniform was easily distinguishable, even on a dull day. Alice would sit there eagerly awaiting her window to the outside world. It was her one source of enjoyment. Over the years the cards had dropped off, one by one, like their owners. It was a lonely place to be when all your friends and most of your family had passed. Each Christmas she clung onto the anticipation of the cards that would come. The joy of knowing that she was still thought of, even if it was just in the sense of a card once a year. Her most treasured card was always from Stacy, her great Niece, she always included a letter. She was so thoughtful, she always typed it in very big font, as she knew Alice had problems reading, even with the aid of her illuminated magnifying glass.
Alice was a bit concerned as Stacy had usually sent her card by now. She loved reading all about her latest adventures, what her kids had been up to and who wasn’t talking to who. She looked up and saw the smoky familiar, red, outline of the postman walking up her drive. Holding onto the arms of the chair she steadily raised her frail body, her left leg not fully supporting her meagre weight. She corrected her balance, concentrating it on the right side so she could steady herself. She shuffled her way to the front door, she grabbed the grabber that she used to save her bending down. She was always worried that if she bent down she might lose her balance. Grabbing the post, she turned round and shuffled back to the chair in the window. She could feel a couple of pieces of post in her frail hand but neither of them seemed the right size and shape for Stacy’s letter. She sat down and reached for her illuminated magnifying glass, raising the letters to her chest. A phone bill and a circular for some household items, Alice was crest fallen, still no letter.
Alice reached for the phone and selected speed dial number one.
“Stacy? Is that you?”
“Yes, Aunt Alice?”
“Yes love, just wondering if your OK, as I haven’t received your card and letter. I do so look forward to hearing your news.”
“Oh sorry, I decided not to do cards this year and put the money to charity.”
“Oh ok.” Inside a part of Alice died, her window to the outside world broken.
Tina’s writing 