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Letters, Snorkles, Slander

by hermione_890_neo


Dear Kinley,

     I know that during our latest encounter I told you—in a somewhat roundabout way—that you were an idiotic, filthy liar, and I am writing this letter solely to inform you that I feel nothing but the deepest regrets for these words, as it has since come to my attention that you are, in fact, not at all as I accused you to be. It seems that all that you told me was perfectly true, so I feel I have no choice but to amend my statements.

     You, dear sir, are the very sort of person that is so inherently dreadful that the dirt you touch feels itself to be unclean. The words that slither off your wretched tongue feel like a searing acid upon the ears of those that have been dealt such a detestable fortune that they must suffer your company, and the acts they illustrate with sickening pride make one think that the world would have been very much better off had your sorry soul never been brought into it.

     One must wonder, truly, how a person can come to be of such an extravagantly disgusting nature that what they utter can be equally abhorrent as either a lie or the truth.

     If it is a lie, then one is forced to wonder—how loathsome is the very mind that devised such a tale? And if it is truth, then wondering is seldom required, for one would know immediately that any individual that tells these horrid, pretentious tales of awful deeds past done to impress a lady is most certainly not of the sort that any sensible lady would willingly be near.

     But then, if you are so utterly clueless as to not know these things already, perhaps I should offer you my pity instead. I have never in my life met anyone so unusual as yourself. But never!

     Ever so sincerely,


     Miss Charlotte,

     I am deeply sorry that you seem to find me so irretrievably despicable.

     However, I cannot pretend that I was not slightly troubled by your letter's interesting beginnings. How cruel of you to fool me, to preface such a letter with an endearment, of all things! Dear Kinley indeed! And then to go on as if you had realized what undeserved hurt your initial insults had caused me, and were merely apologizing! What bold behavior, Charlotte dear.

     I cannot help but admire it, I feel obliged to confess. But I also feel obliged to confess that I find myself wondering why someone so ferociously scornful of those she perceives to be liars would feel inclined to be so deceitful herself.

     But—no matter!

     I seem to have offended you, and for that I apologize. Though perhaps I ought not bother, because it appears that you relished the chance to employ your choicest forms of slander.

     I wonder, though, as to what may be your definition of the word "roundabout"? I think that perhaps as you searched for a suitable word in your thesaurus, you regrettably confused antonyms for synonyms, for I in no way found your spoken insults to be any more ambiguous than your written ones. Your intent is forever explicitly clear, my darling.

     But my own intentions evidently are a touch dimmer, for I never made any attempt to impress. I think you confuse the thrilling tales of an inveterate adventurer with those of an exaggerating fool.

     While I have no doubts that your features evoke an ache of affection in the hearts of many, I think it best if you perhaps recall that beauty is not seen in the same way by any two pairs of eyes, and that not all that you meet are out to win your favor.

     I apologize, again, that I so distressed your innocent mind, but I remain certain that I did nothing wrong, and that it would have made a fantastic story had it fallen on more amiable ears.

     Besides, I have never in my life enjoyed a meal more.

     Warmest of wishes,



     You absolutely disgust me. I am almost uncertain of how to reply to your letter, or of whether I even should, as you are so ridiculously convinced of your own infallibility that no words—no matter how undeniably truthful or wise—could ever alter your perception. Clearly.

     You accuse me of audacity, and then proceed to scorn my appearance, of all the things? How awfully irreverent! Not to mention irrelevant, dearest Kinley.

     And you end your charming letter with a line so entirely devoid of any normal shred of morality that I simply must address it.

     Do you really suppose that because you enjoyed dining upon dear Mr. Nelson's poor little Snorkles that your act was somehow rendered more acceptable? Do you happen to possess even the slightest inkling of awareness for what you have done? Do you even know or—Fyora forbid—care how much misery you have carelessly cast into Mr. Nelson's heart?

     You do know, I trust, that he is, and has been for some years, failing in health and in vision? I am sure that it was not, in fact, his intention to spill his cup of coffee upon your beloved ensemble and newly purchased novel.

     If I remember correctly, there is an excellent clothing store down Cofferling Lane and there are an entire two shelves more of the exact same book that you happened to be holding in the book shop where you were when this very thing happened. And I also seem to recall you telling me something of your incredible treasures and wealth, discovered and collected during your many adventurous expeditions, so you should have had no problem replacing your possessions.

     And allow me to say this: even if Mr. Nelson had harmed you or your things with malicious intent, your actions would have been none the more justifiable.

     Let me recount the situation, if you would: Mr. Nelson stumbles, his coffee spills and ruins your clothing and your novel, so you decide that it would be a simply fabulous idea to steal away his idolized pet Snorkles and cook them into your dinner?

     Now do excuse me if I have missed something, but I am nearly certain that I have the events fairly well remembered. So please read that over to yourself, and tell me: In what way does that make sense to you? And what, precisely, would cause a person to be proud of such a doing?

     I suspect that it is nothing short of derangement.

     Though, of course, I will as ever be interested to your version of the tale. It is always very enlightening to see from the perspective of one who is much different from oneself, and we clearly see many things in strangely different lights.

     After all, I've never before met anyone who used their words in such a way as you did during our last encounter that was not trying to impress or flatter a person. I seem to recall, among many such incidents during our abbreviated conversation, you saying how much the story Golden Eye delighted you—until I admitted that I wasn't much fond of it, and then, suddenly, you were assuring me that the mere sight of the dreadful book's cover troubled you, and you continued on in a similar vein for some time... slipping in somewhere in the middle, I believe, how my own countenance would better grace the cover, as surely a book called Golden Eye ought be bound with a picture of the fairest eyes one could find. You might even better enjoy the story within if such a lovely cover were to be seen, didn't you say?

     Aren't differences of perception just so enchanting?

     Awaiting your reply,


     Miss Charlotte,

     I am sorry that you see the events as you do. It must be terribly exhausting to be so convinced of your own moral superiority and of the depravity of those around you. But do not worry, my dear, do not fret! Someday perhaps you will be graced with a moment of insight and realize that you are not so much finer than the rest of us. Someday, someday. Have patience, darling.

     You did summarize the incident well enough—withering remarks aside—though of course you have missed the fact that the clothing I wore on that day has been in my family for many a generation and is not so easily replaced, and that I had just stood in line for nearly half the day to get that ruined novel signed by the lovely author! Not to mention the equally important fact that dear Mr. Nelson grumbles more or less in my direction any time that I have the misfortune to be near and I sincerely doubt that his spilling of his coffee was such an accident. The old miser failed even to apologize. Anyone with even the barest hint of sense should have been able to see that such a boorish offense would yield its consequences.

     And what is a Snorkle good for if not for dinner? Those poor creatures had been nothing but coddled and boasted about for many years, it was a kindness of me to allow them to achieve their true purpose in the world. Of course Mr. Nelson can always purchase a new herd to senselessly pamper if he feels so inclined; they are not expensive. But perhaps he will learn a lesson from this, a lesson very much overdue.

     I do not expect you to see the sense in these things—clearly you are just as convinced of your own infallibility as you denounce me as being—but I nevertheless thought I ought to explain. After all, it is not in good form to ignore without some sound reason, is it? However, you are more than welcome to cease responding at this point, as I do not find these "differences of perception" quite so delightful as you seem to.

     I do still happen to have an abundance of Snorkle to dine upon, though, if you would like to join me for a splendid supper this Wednesday evening?

     Kindest regards,



     Oh, you do amuse me something awful. I would not join you even for a more honest dinner if I was starved nearly to the point of death.

     This correspondence has at least been an appalling entertainment, but do not feel obliged to reply any longer. This is the last letter that I will condescend to write you, and I will not bother to read any more that I may happen to receive. Evidently there is no use in arguing with or even talking to someone that is as you are.

      Perhaps if you're very lucky that character of yours won't lead you to a mess of trouble and solitude, though I must regretfully confess my doubts that anyone who happens to be of your nature could have sufficient luck to avoid such a fate. Good day, sir, and goodbye.

     Best wishes for your future,


The End

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