Written one night. Posted unfiltered.
Dearest Frederick Leopold Antonio Vespasian Gilbert Vanderbeak,
This letter is concerning two things. Let me begin with the first.
The pen I used to write the majority of the first sentence (in my first draft of this letter, that is) is not a pen. You gave it to me for Jacob’s birthday because you thought I would be jealous of his Chinese kite and the wanton-making kit. ( I was not). In any case, it was a disappointment to the human race, and it is no longer in my possession. I figured out your dark and shameful secret, by the way. That you procured it from Miss Tipsy, the goose.
Now. On to the second and possibly most important matter.
The chrysanthemums are on the table, next to “EAST OF EDEN”.
Do you know what chrysanthemums represent in France, and in possibly every other country of value in this whole world? In other words, DO YOU UNDERSTAND THE SIGNIFICANCE OF WHAT THIS MEANS?
Nope. You probably don’t. Well. They represent death.
Who? You ask, your eyes darting wildly across the page, to see if you missed the name. Ronald De Groot. Yes, no, I’m not lying. He died yesterday. They found him crumpled up in a bucket of water next to the farm, clenching a torn pamphlet with “I love Pamela” scrawled all over it in black and red ink. Yes, Freddy. It is terrible. You must cry now. Send you condolences, along with twenty-one dollars in the mail.
It is to help the family, and to buy me a new pen. In other words, to buy me a new pen to help the family. I write the memorials, you see.
Thank you, for your generosity, dear Freddy.
We love you.
From Little Barrings County,