FranIam has tagged me to finish her homework for her. My dear, I would say that is cheating and you should just go ahead and finish the professor's assignment the old fashioned way (a little flash of the decolletage between you and me). But I will do my best. Plus, when your prof is a pipe stuck in Quik-Crete I guess feminine charms are wasted.
Here is the story so far:
"I had been shuffling around the house for a few hours and already felt tired. The doorbell rang. I opened the front door and saw a figure striding away from the house, quickly and purposefully. I looked down and saw a bulky envelope. I picked it up. The handwriting was smudged and cramped, and I could only make out a few words."(Splotchy)
Despite the throbbing pain in my knees and the dull ache in my lower back, I bent down slowly and picked up the envelope...
Oh no. It did not say this, did it?
Oh yes, it did. It did.
The handwriting was familiar in a way that inspired a cold sweat and a bout of nausea. It was the penmanship of my former husband. You know - the one that was presumed dead.
He disappeared in a suspicious blogging related accident a number of years ago and was never heard from again. I was devastated. I had hated the blog, loathed the thing. What began as a hobby that took but a few minutes a day had morphed into an addiction, the proportions of which could not be measured. It was pure evil.
The blog turned into a cruel and demanding mistress and her siren song was more than I could compete with. One day he left for an evening event, never to return again.
All fingers pointed to one blogger, but I could never get the charges to stick. That one is slick- slick, slick, slick. He can talk a good game and write like nobody's business. But there is something about him, it just is not right.
So my husband was gone, that other one kept blogging and I had to rebuild my life, which I did.
So I finally had the bastard declared dead.
And now this. (FranIam)
Of course, from me, a declaration of death ain't nothing but a thing. Neither are assorted passports, birth certificates and forged stickers for that silly little Monopoly game that McDonald's comes out with every year. It's what I do.
But what terrible manners! Coming back from the dead was not part of the arrangement that we had made. I tore open the envelope.
Inside was a collar with the inscription "Bright Eyes"; a postcard of the Statue of Liberty oddly ensconced in dirt or sand of some type with the words "DAMN YOU, DAMN YOU ALL TO HEll" written dramatically in some strange medium, like charcoal perhaps; and a one-way ticket stub from Richard Branson's new Virgin Airlines space shuttle.
Now I knew where he was. The only question: How did he get this envelope to me? And before 10 am? Fedex is truly a miracle.
Honestly, I would love to tag someone but I believe that this story has been everywhere. I guess I'll just let it end with a couple of corporate endorsements and assume that those boys will see fit to send a few PR dollars my way.