Magical menagerie

Letter 1

Dear Bel,

I hope you're doing well, wherever you happen to be now. I miss you. Oh God how I miss you. Just seeing that beautiful smile every morning, hearing you laugh when I fell over something or someone (usually you). It's not been the same since you left. Mum is still a biatch, although I'm sure you knew that was never going to change and possibly never will. 

Life is a bore. A constant cycle of school to home to school again, no friends or parties or see you tomorrow's. It is as if I was a beetle who crawls along the pavement, just waiting to be stamped on. Do you understand what I'm saying Bel? I really hope you do.

I don't really know why I'm writing this letter. Perhaps to end the boredom, this never ending boredom. But, in reality, I'm just placing this boredom on to you, so you can read this letter and be just as bored as me.

I have had one interesting thing happen to me this week. Well, I think it's interesting anyway. Mum was out for the day, probably down the pub or something along those lines, and there was a knock at the door, which almost never happens. I didn't want to answer it at first. Stranger danger, ya know, especially when I'm home alone. Who would even find my body if this stranger would have killed me? Would it have been mum? I'm not even really sure how she would react. She might just step right over my body and call Pete to get rid of it. It would be making her house smell, taking away from the stench of alcohol and cigarettes. 

Anyway, the point is I did answer the door and I was not killed. I know you can't tell that for sure through a letter but ask me anything and we'll double check next time I write to you. Maybe that's something we should do, just in case someone intercepts our letters or tries to kidnap us. Hey, it could happen!

I'm getting off track again anyway. I answer the door and there was this dude with really big hair, like it was twice the size of me, which to be fair isn't hard, and he was really tall himself. I think he would have had a hard time fitting through the door frame. Anyway, he just kind of stared at me for a few minutes, then he said really loudly, with this big, booming, really raspy voice,

'Who is't art thee?' 

I mean who even speaks like that anymore? I didn't answer at first. I was a little freaked out. No, not freaked out. Damn it. I can't erase with this pen. I was fine. I don't get scared. But this guy was like a super creep. Then he asked me again so I told him my name, ya know. Lipara. Perfectly normal name to me, although it might not be the Most popular name at school. But hey I love my name.

Well when I told him my name he got this weird look on his face, like he'd just been for a huge dump and now he was trying to figure out if he was finished. I know that was a gross analogy but you get the picture.

So I went to shut the door but he put his foot in front of it. I still wasn't scared at all because I don't get scared but he was getting increasingly creepier. I totally could have handled him though if I needed to. He pushed the door so hard a weaker girl might not have been able to stand it. But I have muscle ya know? And this is my house. No way I was letting him in. Turns out he didn't want to come in. He just yelled a word at me and turned and swished away. And I mean literally swished his weird cloak thing along the floor. I swear he could move his hips better than I could.

I don't actually remember what the word was. It was something with a p in it. Maybe a ph sound. It was quite a nice sounding word. Ummmm

Oh yeah! It was 'nymph'. What does that even mean? I'm going to go google it. An immature form of an insect that does not change greatly as it grows. What is that supposed to mean? I'm not immature. I think I'm actually quite mature for fifteen years old. Do you think I'm mature? Actually don't answer that. I don't think I would care either way because you're so immature. Don't disagree with me. Last year, you slept in the dogs kennel because your mum told you you couldn't keep it if it had no use. I mean, what do you even need a dog kennel for anyway? Rory, bless his soul, has been gone for many years now. How many? Like 3? I don't remember, but he's not going to be having sleepovers at yours anytime soon anyway.

I don't want mum to read our letters so I've been keeping them in my bra. This has been working for a little while but there's too many of them now, and they get a bit sweaty. Eww. I know, that's completely gross. Imagine if she read what I said about Pete the other day. Or what I always say about her. I think she's just come home so I'll continue this later. If anything more exciting happens I'll let you know. 

*

Okay so it's been like three days now. Mum had come home but not for long. She took her suitcase with her so I'm not sure where she went. I sometimes think I could just fit myself into a tiny little ball and squeeze into her suitcase. Maybe I could find out where she goes instead of being here, with me.

Of course, that's the worst idea in the world because she would definitely beat me and then I would be stuck in whatever hole she is in. Should I be writing about this? What if someone finds it? Oh well. I can just say I made it up for attention. This is besides the point. I'm home alone again, which of course I'm used to but it's really quite boring still. I'm also quite hungry. I might have to go knock on next door and see if they have any casserole. I'll tell them mum is sick. They'll defo give me food then. There was only like two pizzas in the freezer and then loads of crisps and chocolate in the cupboard, which I know mum will go crazy about when it isn't there when she gets home.

So you're pretty much up to speed. Oh yeah. My question for you, to make sure you're genuine.

Where is the scar you gave me when we were trying to cook fish over that fire and how big is it/what shape? 

I hope I get to see you really soon. I miss you everyday. This boredom is slowly driving me crazy so don't be surprised if I go completely and utterly mad before you see me next. If I stop writing, that's when you know it's gotten bad. This is really the only thing that is keeping me sane or vaguely so. 

Love you to Pluto and back a thousand times because the moon is just too close,

See you soon, 

Lipara Goldstein 

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