(Letter the 1st)
My Dear Ferra,
I somehow survived another day without seeing you, though the world put a lot of effort into killing me. It looked to be a bad day when the bacon grease caught fire again; I need to stop trying to cook when my roommate isn’t around. And of course, that lucky man keeps spending his nights at his girlfriend’s, rubbing salt in the figurative wound. Or soy sauce, perhaps; I know how much you enjoy the delectable condiment. But after the bacon incident (which I sincerely hope won’t scar), while trying to juggle my books without touching the fresh burn, I nearly fell down all three flights of stairs leading to my dorm. One of the sorority wenches leaving her boy toy’s room hit me with the door on the way out, and acted insulted that I was blocking her path. The option for a nice catty comment rose up when she told me to move my fat ass out of her way; I elected to not take it as I think too much of her brain had migrated to her tits for her to really understand the true depths of my loathing.
Classes are still really interesting; I think I know more about the hardware than my computer science professor, so I’m still not sure how he got the job. English is duller, sadly; I think the professor may be trying to kill us through boredom. From what you’ve told me, you know the type; the kind of professor who honestly believes there’s nothing their students enjoy more than a nice, long, book about the art collection of some rich sociopath.
All in all, I’ve had better days, and really wished I could have gone back to an apartment where I had you waiting instead of a burned pan in dire need of cleaning. I had to let that thing sit for hours before I could get the ash off, and then my roomie came back all glowing and in need of some new clothes. I don’t think he even noticed that I liberated his copy of dead rising, a good thing, definitely. Almost nothing helps a black mood like destroying a mall full of zombies with a vacuum cleaner and a trophy for artist of the year. Well, not including the more carnal activities of which we are so tragically and continuously deprived.
I’m actually thinking of going back to our old forum; there are times when I miss “The Arcane Nexus.” I’m still subscribed to a couple of things on the forum, but the reminders are fewer and farther between. But for now, I think I’ll leave my connection to you. I wish I could hear your voice; I really miss our talks.
Farewell for now,
Kydin Moreau stretched, reading over the letter once quickly to see if this is what he wanted to say. With a sigh he inaudibly said, “And I love you.” His face flickered with an emotion that wasn’t quite sad, wasn’t quite angry, after that comment.
“As if I could ever actuallytell her that,” he muttered, folding the letter, slipping it in the envelope and putting one of the stamps he’d shipped over from Hawaii onto the envelope. With a fresh sigh from deep within his being, he walked down, put the envelope in the outgoing mail, and walked back up, his mind falling back into its old escapes and wondering if he could assemble a Trial of the Grand Crusader group tonight.