Yakov silently begged his arthritic fingers to tie the knots in his sandal in the predawn darkness. A moment later, he struggled up from the simple pallet that made his bed, muttering a quite prayer of thanks to God for the distant cousin who let him use this barely habitable room for a pittance.

Here is a writing exercise I did using a prompt from one of my wife's dreams. I used a "Three-year letter to my future self" format both...