Dear L.,

By Irrishdew

Shell looked at Breavman and drew her finger along the lines of his tired body.

"You have no one to blame but yourself," she murmured, gently stroking his hair. "You are the child of privilege, but you are barren. Your words are meaningless because your life has no meaning, and I- I am leaving this story. It cannot be a love story without the beautiful girl, the one you are supposed to be moving towards."

"But there is redemption in my telling," he protested mechanically, like a character from his scripts. "There is ignorance at first and then -"

"No! First there is childish ignorance and then there is willful ignorance," she interrupted. "One is certainly worse than the other, and I will not stay around to be a part of your poetry. Or your lies."

She stood up then and her silhouette melded into the darkness of the bedroom. The feel of her soft skin lingered and he held onto that dream long after she had left.

Change was an illusion and her name was Shell.

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Dear L.,

Created: Jan 16, 2010

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