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Ezzie Brown

Esmeralda Rosalind Brown hates her full name for its pretense of regality, but this is her official bio and I am her brother, so that’s what she gets! She was born on October 1st sixteen years ago and I’ve known her ever since. She’s not too fond of school -- I mean, who isn’t? -- so my parents tried to put her in boarding school for the first two years of high school, but it was too much, being hippie and foodie and no closer to Hogwarts. We love her but it’s not her priority for happiness at this moment -- I’m not sure what is and neither is she, so she’s pretty down. And by pretty down, I mean far too clinically down. But maybe public school is treating her better? I should check in more often. She likes writing poetry and runs cross country because it’s the least competitive sport. She’s full of sass and cracks as many jokes as she does depressing sentiments. I know she’ll figure things out soon, but until then -- she’s still Ezzie.

 

With absolute affection,

Nathaniel

 

Letter from O to V

Apr 4, 2016
1 min read

Monday, April 4th, 2016

Ms. Valerie R.,

Deepest apologies. I have not been myself lately. I found your most recent letter to be both annoying and amusing. I would have expected nothing less from any other worthwhile correspondent.

Yes, I am living in a retirement home. Yes, I am not happy about it. Thank you for your condolences. I am sorry that we write to each other out of pockets of misery. Misfortune swarms like wasps and when landing, stings many times. I go to the doctor for it.

I would suggest you set fire to the home and escape out the window, but they most likely have you a few stories up and I am not a supporter of arson as I am a self-proclaimed pacifist. You shall have to bear it for the time being or break out another way. Please send along whiskey when you do.

Lately I have not been capable of living up to my own standards. I can chock it up to the fact that trying to produce original thought in this place is like attempting to pry a mouse off a sticky trap without hurting it. But I am trying to be better so that I can get better. Then perhaps I can live on my own again--not like some infant in a pastel-colored crib, but like the person I used to be.

Good to hear that you are not dead yet.

Sincerely,

O. Brown.


 
 
 

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