A Letter To You
[Author's Note: I originally published this story in October 2002 on my LiveJournal literary community, indiefiction. I was trying to write a story that gets sadder and sadder as it progresses.] Hello, Andrea, how are you today? Oh, I'm fine. Mother and Father are all right, along with Spud. I remember when we named him. We went into town to get groceries, and saw this adorable puppy, and he was free. Mother said, "Okay," and we came home with him. Father took one look at him and said, "That dog looks like a potato!" Thus, he became Spud. Since you seemed to play with him the most, now he just sits around all day and mopes. Sometimes he waits by the front door, waiting for you to come back home and play with him. We just tell him that he's a silly dog, and try to get him to play with us instead. He does miss you, we all do. He only plays with us in a half-assed way, now. I saw this movie the other day, and it reminded me of you. It was about thes