A flash-fiction story. Post 22

Sometime back, a flash-fiction contest had taken place on this blog, as well as on the Facebook fanpage of Life is what you make it. The contestants had to use all the three pictures given above in their story. It was not essential to use the  words in the picture, but just the visual. The word limit was 209 words (as the book has 209 pages)
Some marvellous stories were churned out and the judges chose one lucky winner.
Later, I too wanted to write a flash-fiction story using the above three pictures. The story I wrote is my post for today.
Here goes:

The shrill ring of the telephone did nothing to soothe my alcohol induced headache. Nor did the words my brother uttered. He was calling after fourteen years. Time had changed nothing. He was still the asshole he always had been. Perhaps it was a genetic trait. It took one to know one.

“Mother died this morning.”

“About time too, the alcoholic, adulterous, good for nothing bitch. How old was she? 83?”

He hung up without a second’s hesitation.

I called him right back.

“Make sure you keep the letters she safeguards. I want them.”

“You will not have them.”

Later in the day, when the flames rose higher, they devoured everything, including the letters she safeguarded and her memories. Prominent among them was a handwritten spidery scrawl

1957.

“Dearest darling,

If you weren’t a married woman I’d have proposed to you a hundred times over. I remember the night you came over in the rain. You eyes danced in the candle light. I wished I could kiss you and never let you go, but I did not even have the guts to hold your hand. You will never see me again, as is your wish. But I will love you till the end of time. I remain only yours.”