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Circe swirled the blood in her glass, and stared at the rug. She had already sent her reply back to her brother, she had felt confident in her standing when she tied it to the bat, but now....
Dear Friend, We were told to write letters today. I don't know what about and I didn't know who to but they told us.
Johnny, Hi. I know I didn't write all weekend; I'm sorry but I was out, actually doing things, and I know you won't mind. You probably think the writing a letter every day is a bit mental anyway.
Johnny, So loser, how's things. It seems like ages since we spoke, when it reality it was just a few days.
Dear Miss Brown I understand you're on the sauce, just like I am. I'd like to ask, how's it going. For I seem to be to-ing and fro-ing.
In an attic room, high above the bustling streets of the Unknown City, a single, naked, light bulb hangs limply from the ceiling over a large wooden desk.
A mother passing by her daughter's bedroom was astonished to see the bed was nicely made and everything was picked up. Then she saw an envelope propped up prominently on the center of the bed.