| Where there's a Weewoo, there's a way |
Circulation: 194,549,696 |
Issue: 772 | 10th day of Running, Y19 |
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"Dear Sally" by parody_ham
Dearest Sally...
The words dance across the parchment in the waning candlelight. I dip the quill in ink once again, letting it hover over the page before crumpling up the paper and tossing it into a waste bin.
I gnarl my hands into a fist, cursing under my breath. How do I even begin to write to her after all these years? What would she even think of me?
“Woooo,” murmurs the Darigan Weewoo perched upon a stand near my desk. Its head is tucked under its wing while its half-open eye gazes towards me in unfocused attention.
“Apologies, old friend,” I say. I graze the back of the feathered Petpet with my hand, lulling it back to sleep.
After a quick glance at the large piles of discarded parchment, I sigh. It had been a valiant attempt to write to her, but that is all that could be said of the act: an attempt.
Opportunities to write for pleasure became few and far between, and the few times they presented themselves were late at night, when only the eve’s guard could sanely claim alertness. The rest of my time had been filled with other, more pressing, matters.
Other Stories
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 Dear Sally
How do I even begin to write to her after all these years? What would she even think of me?
by parody_ham |
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 We Are Made of Choices
Perhaps not so much reading, as reminiscing. His paw pads traced the titles on the spines of the history books, reminding him that he actually remembered so much of what they called “history” these days. In Neopia, he thought, heroes never died—they just went away for a while.
by cosmicfire918 |
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