Blink

Then: An E-mail Is Sent

Unsent e-mail from Melle Evans to Flynn Devitt

Flynn,

I hate this country, I really and truly do. Hate's a strong word, blah, blah, blah, but I'm deadly serious. Lethally serious. Is that even a thing? If it wasn't, it is now. My therapist says my anger towards this 'vacation' is pent up hostility that's deep rooted from my childhood (we've been e-mailing at the insistence of my mother), but I completely disagree. I just don't like it here, it's that simple. You know therapists tend to overcomplicate.

But in all seriousness, I can't even begin to comprehend this country! They do NOT know the meaning of vegetables, and pretzels are practically a national treasure. Did I ever tell how much I dislike pretzels? I should be worried, because if someone were to intercept this e-mail, I would be imprisoned, or sentenced to death by lethal injection, or possibly Chinese water torture. At least I'm not a citizen, saying something like that would probably be considered treason. Or blasphemy. I think pretzels might just have their own religious cult.

But who am I kidding? Absolutely no one is reading, because I'm never going to be courageous enough to actually press the send button. Plus, it would put me in the extremely awkward situation of actually having to explain how I happened to 'come across' your e-mail address. And that's classified information. 

I'm sick of this trip. I wish I could come home, and stare again at my yellow walls. But no, because tomorrow, we're taking a boat to some hick nowhere island with a population of 36, and then, get this, walking 8 kilometres back to shore across some weird sand stuff that doesn't have an English word when the tide goes out. It would be offensive if I tried to pronounce it, let alone spell it. And guess how long we're stuck on the island (Neuwerk) waiting for the ocean to MOVE? Seven hours. SEVEN. And we get to spend part of our time taking a tour of the apparently fascinating architectural relics that still reside there. In German. Did I mention I know exactly five words in the language, and one of them is unicorn? 

So, Flynn, you shouldn't envy my position, even though I know you would. You're just the kind of person to enjoy this torture, this complete and utter malicious disregard for my interests. (Cough, parent and Doug. Oops, I forgot, he's Dad now.) You're welcome to my place here, but maybe it would be the slightest bit more enjoyable if you were here to join me. I wish, even though I certain you don't. I'm spending too much time isolated, too much time inside my own head, with my thoughts. It's a messed up place in here.  My songs keep me remotely stable, though. But if I come home slobbering and even more mentally defective, at least nobody will know why.

I'd better go. My pathetic life of pointlessness is busy waiting for me to return to my monotony. It's the only thing that is. 

As always,

Melle

Sent e-mail from Melle Evans to Jamie McCloud 

Jame-ster!

Whaddup, bro? Sorry, but English excites me significantly more now that I only hear it half as often. Prepared for rant that I'm going to pretend you care about? Excellent. Well, actually, I've vented sufficiently for today, so maybe I'll just complain a little. I'm just incredibly bored, and crazy drained. Why do my elders think it's an acceptable idea to hike EIGHT kilometres while still under the influence of jet lag tomorrow? When I mentioned that to them, they said some exercise would be beneficial. Beneficial my ass. It's not as if I spend close to ten hours playing soccer every week. Not at all. 

Anyways, that's it. I actually have nothing else to tell you, because I've basically been assaulting the gross turquoise wall with my eyes since I woke up this morning. It also feels like an elephant on some serious steroids has decided to tap dance on my head, which only adds to my foul mood. I hate this country, I hate this trip, and I hate this stupid wall. It's painted an offensively appalling shade. And I DON'T have hostility issues, like Dave says. Therapists know nothing. No matter what anyone says, a Master's degree doesn't give you the right to psycho-analyze people, and assume they know even the first thing about their emotions. I know you've got to be laughing by now, (I can see you. You are. Sympathy appreciated.) so I'll stop pestering you as best I can from another continent. 

Have fun working the Ice Cream Shack, I know how enthused you are about that job. 

Melle, out.

A/N: Dedicated to @crazy_cupcakes for the awesome cover. Thanks! Who wants to know what comes next? So many people reading this, it's crazy....