𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄

"Do you think anyone who wrote these letters is still alive?"

"If you want them to be."

━ ❀ ◆ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐍 ◆ ❀ ━

   "Joel? Do you know this...Bobby Frost dude?"

Fifteen-year-old Ellie Williams asked yet another question to the man driving them away from the devastation in Seattle, scrunching her nose up as she read over the words for the thousandth time. Maybe it had something to do with certain ones being scratched out with a very thick, very angry penholder. They had a different interpretation of certain words, leaving '??' next to the margins. She even tried to turning it sideways, upside down, squinting with one-eye much to Joel's concern for her sanity (not like he could say anything).

The man in question, having been resting his head on his arm to ease the miles, the other loosely on the wheel of the SUV, looked in the rearview mirror at the name. Immediately, nothing came to mind―a registry of every person he'd come across in this lifetime, possibly, but then the nickname connected that he had not met that person and he snorted. "You mean Robert Frost? I don't think anyone called him 'Bobby.'"

"Whatever...I bet his best friend did. He's not a bad writer. I mean, clearly this person didn't like him, but―"

"Which poem is it?"

Ellie scrunched up her nose, trying to read through the scribbles. "Ah...looks like it says 'The Toad Not Staken' but I have a feeling that's wrong."

"'The Road Not Taken,'" Joel corrected, near-instantly. Flashbacks to when he was in junior high, and his English teacher had required they all memorize that exact poem. All these years later, Joel didn't remember it for shit. Maybe that was why he failed that class. "I only know the ending. Everyone knows the ending. 'Two roads diverged in the woods, and I took the one that wasn't traveled―and that made a huge difference because I didn't die.'"

Ellie snorted. "Everyone knows the ending, huh?"

"I'm paraphrasing."

Despite herself, Ellie couldn't help the grin that cracked on her face as she rooted through her backpack to find her own pen. Black ink as well, but with a small tip that allowed her better detail for drawing (she still couldn't get the eyes right, no matter what she used). In the margins that were un-graffitied, she annotated with Joel's rendition of the poem. But what surprised her was the grit to the paper when she wrote, like something had been written on the faded parchment―

So, Ellie turned it around for the first time, and a small 'humph' escaped her mouth when she saw that there was a note on the back of the poem.

━ ❀ ◆ 05/02/2034 ◆ ❀ ━

Whoever finds this shit, I hope it was your first time reading it too.

I mean, can you believe that load of bull? I spent ten minutes trying to figure out what it means...and then I realized, maybe it doesn't mean anything. You know? Or maybe that's just me.

Maybe I've lost the meaning of anything. Everyone is gone. 'One traveler' was about the only thing right from Bobby Frost. But no one gave me two roads. I would've chosen differently. Because maybe it would make a difference.

So...maybe if you find this...maybe you can find the meaning behind the poem. Well―my interpretation of what's left of it. Sorry. I don't think 'The Toad Not Staken' is very moving.

I guess whoever you are, you're about the only person who cares what I have left to say. If you even care. You probably don't. I wouldn't.

Safe travels to you. Unless you suck. But you probably don't if read this far into my mind.

━ ❀ ◆ Clio. ◆ ❀ ━

"Sorry," Ellie muttered under her breath as she smoothed her fingertips over the writing. "I don't get it either."

Letters were not uncommon to find after the outbreak. People relied on the things that didn't require electricity, and with that, came some kind of solace in words―or, in Ellie's case, drawing too. Unfortunately, Ellie Williams read more than enough suicide notes and tales of unfinished stories to learn that she only ever knew the endings if the letters were next to a body. The same could not be said for this person, whoever they may be. Clio's letter was found tucked away, almost as if by accident when swept by the wind, into the comic book she stole from Bill's place months ago.

Before everything. Before, maybe Ellie would not have understood what Bobby Frost meant when he spoke of the two roads—but she understood it more now. After traveling, surviving, in the hopes to mean something for someone else. Ellie wanted to matter—but...she supposed Clio had one thing right. No one gave her two roads. She made no difference.

Ellie Williams found a second letter weeks later after their SUV stalled out and feet were the only option―and she knew, in some way, that there was no possibility it was just a coincidence. Joel and her had been trying to find anything worth taking in an old bookstore, cluttered with anything and everything she could fit into her bags, when she stumbled across something that caught her eye. Intentionally, on the desk of the disheveled check-out line, was a propped up book.

"Holy shit. It's Bobby," she spluttered out, much to Joel's confusion when she barreled straight to the book. His frustration held up over her lack of care toward the noise, but in reality, her footsteps were that of a mouse as she plucked the book into her hands. He just found anything to gripe about. As she did so, another letter fell at her feet. Along with the letter, something else. "What the hell?"

A dark blue piece of string, expertly braided together to form an odd bookmark―or honestly just a piece of string to Ellie. Frowning, she scrunched up her nose and opened the book to the place it was held at.

𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐒

𝐎𝐍 𝐀 𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐘 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆

by ᗷOᗷᗷY R̶o̶b̶e̶r̶t̶ ᖴᖇOᔕT

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Ellie blinked, reading the words over a few times, noticing how this one was not annotated with anything. All the way, she could practically feel Joel breathing down her neck, waiting for her to move along. But she didn't care, rolling her eyes at his persistence as she followed behind him, shutting the book with the string keeping its place as it disappeared into her backpack like all others. The letter was now her focus, and she moved to read it next as she followed blindly behind Joel.

━ ❀ ◆ 06/10/2034 ◆ ❀ ━

This one I understood.

And if you know what that first line means, then: did you figure out the meaning of the last one?

Because this one...I sat with this one. I got stuck in this library for a few days. There were some guys...not infected. Humans. Those are the worst, aren't they? And if I'm dead, and one of you fuckers is the reason why, I hope you burn in HELL.

If you're not―sorry. I'm going stir-crazy, and all I've got is time to write...to you, I guess. Whoever you are.

"Ellie. I swear to—"

Ellie's cheeks burned when she realized she'd run right into Joel's backpack, taking a nose full of fabric only inches away from where she knew he kept his knife. "Sorry. Sorry."

"Anyone ever tell you not to walk and read at the same time?"

Ellie mimicked him, knowing he was smug with the (not) funny joke. Then she returned back to the letter with no caution over his advice.

This one is about giving up. I know. You're like, what? It's about a dude with a horse (I miss my horse. Her name was Shadow. Such a cliche, but she never left me. Until they took her).

But...I read it. Line by line.

This one doesn't have any of the weird words added like the last one. This one...it's just simple. On the off chance that you found me again, maybe I could understand this one for us. Feels like I'm back in school. Group work was the worst in the QZ.

Horse guy...he's tired. He knows where he is. He knows where he has to go―and that feels like a fucking world away. So he stops. Even though it's dangerous where he is, even though there's nowhere to stop—something about the woods feels like a good place for him. And maybe he means to die. Maybe he means―

I don't know what else he means.

But I'll leave this book for you, and you can find the next poem for me.

Oh. I left you a bookmark. You can throw it away...but, if this is you, and you've found this one too... (am I becoming a poet?)

Ellie paused, preparing to flip the letter over to read what was on the back, when Earth dawned back on her again. The blood-curling, clicking sound echoed against the walls of the library, and Joel's arm was pushing against her with a whisper she mirrored.

"Ellie―"

"I know, I know. Watch your back."

It was not until three days later that Ellie remembered she had not finished the letter. That may have been by complete accident, as well. Her backpack was ripped by a bloater, and she spent the next day with Joel searching for a new one. Another pitstop on the way back to Jackson that was absolutely necessary. That involved some spring cleaning of her belongings, and when she felt a hardbound book authored by one Bobby Frost, she paused. Joel noticed the reaction immediately, looking up from the cords he was mindlessly strumming.

His eyes focused on the cover of the book. "I thought you were into the planets, not poetry."

"Hey, my brain is huge. I collect all kinds of knowledge that would surprise you," she shot back without thinking, but her mind was still distracted. She flipped open the book page again, resting her chin on her propped-up knee as she did so. Ellie read the poem again. Then, she read it again. She read it over and over until she was sure she could recite the words in her sleep.

By sometime-she-couldn't-tell-you, the stars were bright and the moon was the only source of light around for her. She yawned, rubbing her eyes, and then she fiddled with the blue string holding her place in the book. Ellie turned to the letter then and found herself re-reading the words to refresh her memory. Looking at the person's interpretation of it now that she knew the words...and that was the first time she really took the time to appreciate poetry.

I left you a bookmark. You can throw it away...but, if this is you, and you've found this one too...(am I becoming a poet?)

I don't have many memories left of my mother, but I do have one. She was a beautiful woman. Kind. Too kind. I think I look like her. I don't want to look like my dad.

She would whisper to me when I couldn't sleep, a story that her mother told her―the creation of the invisible red thread. She would take my pinky, twist it with her own, and then slowly pull them apart―and said, "There...that is the invisible thread. No matter what happened, the thread between two people could not be unbroken. Because those people were destined to meet regardless of time, space, or a deadly virus taking out all of humanity (she didn't say that specifically)."

They were destined for each other.

I couldn't find anything red...and honestly, it's not really my favorite color anymore. I hope you like blue. I made mine too big, so I had to tie it to my ankle. Hopefully I don't lose it...the ankle, I mean. That's almost happened (long story).

Until our next meeting. This feels one-sided already. Hopefully you're not a total creep.

━ ❀ ◆Clio. ◆ ❀ ━

Ellie had to duck her head to contain her snicker into her knee, a smile stitching up her face as she looked over at the bookmark once again. A blue thread. Connecting her and Clio? The thought of it troubled her―because that meant the person writing these letters was no longer just a penholder―but Clio. Someone who had a name, a mother who told them stories to fall asleep, someone who wore the other half of the braided bookmark. Someone who Ellie didn't even know was alive. She didn't know who this person was. Nothing but a name. And two letters.

She pursed her lips, glancing at the bookmark, then she grabbed a hold of it. Using her teeth and the book as a stabilizer, she was able to get the string tied not-so-securely (Joel would have to make a better knot tomorrow) around her thin wrist. Over it was the exposed bite, reminding her once again of what she could not accomplish.

The Fireflies.

Ellie wondered if Clio was with them—or if they were lost, too, in their purpose. Lost in everything. The thought prompted a surprising reminder in her head. Bobby Frost, the most recent poem striking a flare in her heart as she glanced over at Joel's sleeping form on the floor. The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep. Now, with the bracelet tied around her wrist, Ellie couldn't help but feel like she had just made another life-long promise to a complete stranger.

Because they were destined to meet. Ellie Williams, in her heart, believed that now too.

━ ❀ ◆𝐍𝐎 𝐃𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 ◆ ❀ ━