Dear Duck,
I swear I haven't been avoiding you. It's just, you kind of got into my head the other day and I'm still trying to figure out what to say. You hit the nail on the head a few times, missed the mark by a mile every other. Was that sentence long enough for you? I really am trying here.
You say I'm choppy and to the point. There's validity in that. Growing up with a sister who will use any pause to fill with her own word garbage you learn to cut to the chase, and fast. Maybe that's a habit you can break me out of?
If we ever did cross paths in the hallway, say I knocked your books over or whatever it is uncoordinated people do, I like to think I'd help you pick them up. I'm pretty sure I would stop long enough to check you were alright before going about my day. I swear I'm not that much of an asshole. Just because Mr. Doubtful is male perfection to you doesn't mean the rest of us are A-moral douchebags.
As for what's eating me? Well, part of it is the fact you pulled yet another old movie reference on me. You sure you're not a time traveler come to spy on 21st-century teens? I'm not saying you have to throw me a Riverdale quote, but show some variety. I'm trying to.
Is this essay long enough for you yet or is there some word count I'm not privy to? You asked me why a guy like me was still talking to a guy like you, and I gotta say it's got a lot more to do with than just my curiosity as to whatever the hell was on page 167. I can't quite put my finger on what it is, and it's early days, you may do something to really piss me off, but right now I like what we have.
Now I pass the question over to you. Do you miss the old Captain, or are we both finally moving in the same direction?
With Pseudo-Clarity,
Compass.
YOU ARE READING
YOUR ONE LAST LINE |✔️|
Short Story*Watty's Shorts Winner, 2020* While cleaning out empty lockers during detention, North Kingsley comes across a battered textbook filled with off-beat and personal messages written in awful handwriting. On a whim he writes them a message back. Days...
