Lost Letters
A Hermit Crab Fiction by Ben Daggers
SEARCH: Sent mail
FROM: Prisoner 0367 - Jonas Landtner
TO: Lucy Severeux
MESSAGE COUNT: 884
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SHOWING MESSAGES 451-460 (Page 46 of 89)
2084.10.29
Lucy,
You’re not going to believe what they’ve cooked up
this time. As part of the Intellectual Elite
Countermeasures, starting next week there’s a hard
limit on any words longer than six letters. You know
that I’ve never exactly been Shakespeare, so it won’t
affect my messages much, but it just goes to show how
bad things have gotten. I think they’re still letting
us receive messages as normal, so at least I can
continue to enjoy all those words of yours that I
pretend to understand.
While I still can, let me sign out in style: You are
the most prepossessing, captivating, splendiferous
creature in the universe!
2084.11.5
Lucy,
They really went and did it. I just spent the last
minute trying to write a seven letter word and every
time it got wiped from the screen. The rumor mill says
that there may even be plans to reduce the letter
count from six to five soon. As if one mail per week
weren’t cruel enough, they’re now going to limit the
words I can use? The world is going to hell in a hand
cart. But we’ll get past this, just like we always do.
All the kisses in the world for you, my angel.
2084.11.12
Lucy,
The rumor was true.
It was once said (more or less) that “the limit of my
words is the limit of my world”, and I can now see
what they were on about. With so many words now out of
reach, I find it hard to think as I once did. But I
still feel the same way about you as ever, and I hope
you know that. At least I still have the tried and
true “I love you”. Maybe that’s all I need?
I await your next mail (just five days to go) with
every fiber of my being.
2084.11.19
Lucy,
I hate to give bad news each time, but one more rule
came in two days ago. I am down to just four. It’s as
if they want to take the very last bit of life from
me. From us.
I know you hate to hear it when I’m down, but I am in
a bad way. My mind is a cage. With each week, each new
law, each new loss, I feel its cold, iron bars push in
more and more. Even when I had no rule to bind me, it
was hard to tell you what you mean to me. But now, I
am all but lost. When they take one more (and they
will do any day now, I can feel it) I will weep, for
I’ll have lost your name. Your name! But till that
day, I will type it so hard that the keys will want to
cry out in pain. LUCY! LUCY! LUCY!
2084.11.26
To my L,
Who am I to you now? And who are you to me? I beg God
for aid, but he is not in. He is not. How can he be?
I am so sad. My eye is wet all day. I am all ire now.
Yet no end to the bad era for me and you: A new law in
a day. Is it the end for us?
My tip to my toe are all for you, my L.
2084.12.3
To my L,
Oh no.
Is it “I” or is it “we”? If it is “we,” I am to go on.
If it is “I”... No.
I or we?
We? We? We? WE?
2084.12.10
L,
x
2084.12.17
L,
x
2084.12.24
L,
x
2084.12.31
L,
x
CLICK HERE FOR MESSAGES 461-470 (Page 47 of 89)
Ah! Ben! This is sublime! Such a powerful little piece!!!