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Mummy & Daddy, please read and respond promptly

Dearest Mummy and Daddy,

I’m writing to say I’m quite alright really, nothing too serious. I’m currently being treated for heat stroke, dehydration, and other such ailments.
I’m sure you heard of the accident over the Atlantic. Yes, the Atlantic Ocean. I know I haven’t been too keen on keeping in touch, but you see I’ve been quite busy since I’ve been off to Harvard, following in Daddy’s footsteps, you know. I’m to become a highly in-demand prestigious lawyer, aren’t I?
Well anyway last we left off I told you of a man I was to marry that I’d met at the local coffee joint. Remember? Dear Ronald Symfield. The author Ronald Symfield. Yes that’s right; he was a writer! He hadn’t sold any, but I was sure he would.
When I told you about our engagement, you responded by telling me not to behave too “desperately” and to “explore my options.” Desperate! Mummy you don’t know what desperate is! But yes, anyway, a month before the wedding was scheduled; Arthur thought it would be appropriate to meet you before we tied the knot.
So I said, alright then Arthur honey, whatever you think is right.
We boarded the first flight to Bath. It was the silliest thing really, Arthur asked Bath? Like the one you bathe in? No impractical Arthur, Bath England! Oh he was too adorable.
But anyway, halfway through the flight there was this strange rumbling and the pilot shouted something incoherently over the intercom and these weird, unsanitary masks fell from the ceiling.
“I’m not putting those on!” I said to the flight attendant who I swear was making eyes at my Arthur. Right before I was going to put her in her place, the plane started to dip and passengers were screaming. The skyline was disappearing as the ocean neared. I had enough sense to buckle my belt up before we hit the water.
And then, everything exploded. Bits of wings and engine and personal belongings scattered around me, my dear Arthur and most of the unfortunate, somewhere at the bottom of the ocean with the pilot. Admittedly I was anxious about sharks. I remember how my voice was dry and raspy with salt water as I called out for someone.
I climbed into a yellow raft floating by and lay flat on my back, staring up into the blinding sun.
A woman drifted towards me. It was the flight attendant and she had a life vest. What a selfish twit, I thought to myself, I was the passenger and I hadn’t gotten one.
Please she whined, let me on with you I’m tired. I don’t want to die.
She clawed her way onto my raft anyway. How rude.
Luckily a pouch filled with first aid products floated by us and three full canteens of water were inside. She greedily started lapping up water like a dog. I was civilized, and I drank like a young lady.
To help conserve this vital necessity, I waited till she was asleep and hid the water.
When she awoke she asked me where it was and I said “I don’t know, you probably drank it all.”
Before long we both felt the pang of hunger. When her eyes were closed I sneaked small sips from the canteen and I watched as she smacked her dry lips. But she brought it on herself.
I’m hungry she whined. I’m hot she whined. I’m thirsty she whined.
I was just teaching her a lesson. By the end of the third day, I grabbed the canteen and thought I should give her a bit of water, but when I touched her slimy body, she didn’t move. I was sure she was dead, but suddenly she sat up with great force and tried to pry the water out of my hands by taking hold of the leather strap. I said, “NO, YOU CANNOT HAVE THAT YOU SILLY NINNY!” and I waited till she tugged really hard and let go. The metal can snapped back and hit her in the head, and she fell backwards. For an hour she did not move, so to be sure, because of course if she’d gotten the chance she would have killed me, I struck three more blows with the canteen to her temple. When I confirmed she was dead, head trauma or something, I was going to let her float away but I started thinking about what waste that would be.
I was watching as the sun baked her skin. As vile a person as she was, she smelled almost juicy, tender.
I leaned down and took in her scent. I suppose I was a bit desperate for the rumbling in my stomach to cease. Gingerly, I picked up a finger, and mmmm I licked the tip of her pointer.
I was quite hungry you understand so I began to snack a bit on her. She tasted oh so delectable after three days and who am I to turn down perfectly good food? You didn’t raise me as a snob!
Day seven into my desertion and I had finished both her arms. The sun had cooked her good as I hid under a flashy aluminum blanket I found in the care kit. Disappointingly, I was running out of water.
But that was when I heard the beat of a helicopter’s wings and the water pulsed under the wind. Quickly, I pushed the flight attendant back into the water, so my rescuers wouldn’t think me too piggish.
So now, I’m here in the hospital, writing to you. I’ll be released soon. The food they feed me isn’t so tasty, but it’ll do. I suppose you’re happy that Arthur, my love is gone; as you told me by marrying him I would be acting “desperate”
But honestly, you don’t know what desperate is.


With love, your Briny.




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