The Letters of Wrath

Never stop reading them

Today I got another “Dear John, it’s over…” letter in the mail. I don’t understand. My name isn’t John, and I haven’t dated anyone for three years now. But no matter how many times I go to the post office to expose my case to Miss March (she’s the director there), I keep receiving them. Almost every week.

If it’s a joke, I don’t understand it.

The letters are always the same, but for one thing at the end.

Dear John,

It’s over.

I’ve been abducted by aliens. They want me to fly away with them and the dinosaurs they picked up yesterday while they were time-traveling in Earth’s vicinity. I’m sorry I won’t attend the secret surprise party you organized for my birthday next week. I know how much work you put into it. Please don’t be mad at Deborah for telling me. She meant good. She just wanted to make sure I’d be happy with the gifts and the menu.

But do tell her she’s a whore for having slept with you behind my back. This brings me to the real reason it’s over, John. It’s because you’re a dirty cheating bastard. That’s why. There are no aliens, no time travel, and no dinosaurs. Not even your favorite one, the stupid Parasaurolophus. Not as stupid as you, though. Dumb man! You mean, dumb man.

With my non-existing regards to your existence,

And here’s the strange thing.

The letter is signed with my name, printed, but there’s a handwritten signature. And it’s mine! A perfect copy. The only difference between the others is the number; this was letter number 156.

Whatever that means.

I’ll just put it with the rest, in case this John comes one day.

“Miss March! She came again today.”

“Poor thing. She keeps on writing these letters to her late husband. I guess she’ll never accept her husband’s death. Did you know it’s said he lost control of the helicopter because his mistress was playing with his joystick, so to speak?”

“I know; you told me the story one hundred fifty-six times already. What do we do? The usual?”

“Yes. Add the number. 157, right?”

Although I didn’t meet any of the requirements, I was inspired by Zane’s prompt. [Paul’s note — do you ever meet any requirements?]

In the spirit of the Microcosm Community, I would like to share a story by Fox Kerry.