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Cursive
If you open this letter, tell my son I love him.
Tell him I will love him day and night, present and future. Tell him I will love him even when there is no me to love him and no him to be loved. I don’t know what’s happening, and I don’t know what will happen, but I want him to know how much I care for him. Please tell him.
Your frostbitten hands fumble with the letter as you scan the flowery handwriting. You wish you could do what it had instructed, but you’re cold, and paper burns well.
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A 100-word story about handwriting (nearly indecipherable) and hands (should probably be warmed up)