Letters from Anonymous

Lazy, Lazy, Lazy

Dear girl,

I know we haven't met, but I've read your stories. They're brilliant. I'd love to tell you who I am, but I'm afraid if I do that, things could get ugly. Just thought that I'd tell you though! Don't stop writing!

Sincerely,

Boy

Dear boy,

Thank you very much for the friendly advice, but now I will be wondering who you are indeed. Why would things get ugly? And who said I'd even know who you were if you told me? I hope you're not ashamed of who you are, that would make me quite depressed.

Sincerely,

Girl

Dear girl,

Depressed? But why? I am the way I am. But thanks for your compassion, it means a lot. Most people seem like they don't care about who I am inside as much as they do about what I am outside. They always judge my friends and I, even if they don't know us.

Dear Boy,

I can see where you're coming from, and I'm very surprised to see you're this open about it. People usually don't like talking to random people.

Dear girl,

Talking to people who don't know me is a better chance of them listening. Sometimes, it kills me just to see that the people I know, barely know me. Do they even know my favorite color, or anything about my first kiss?

Dear boy,

Well darling, what is your favorite color?

Dear girl,

Well darling, it's green.

Dear boy,

Green? As in ocean green or forest green?

Dear Girl,

Both, I suppose.

Dear boy,

Haha! Good answer.

Dear Girl,

Why thank you! Now, I'd hate to massacre the conversation, but I'm afraid I must be off to work. Thanks for listening, by the way.

Dear boy,

That's alright, it had to end sometime. One last thing though?

Dear girl,

Sure!

Dear Boy,

What's work?

Dear Girl,

That, would definitely be off limits. Nice try though! I'll catch you later!

Dear boy,

*Sighs* Okay, well have a good night!

Dear Girl,

You too!

******************************************************************************************

I set down my IPod and stretch. I'd been online all day writing and messaging back that random guy. It's strange, talking to someone who took his time to message me about how he liked my stories. It's intriguing, but I shrug it off and get out of bed, hoping that my mom already has the soy milk and cereal ready to eat for breakfast. Or maybe I should say lunch.

The smell of pancakes wafts into my nose, filling my lungs with the sweet scented air. Out of everything I miss, I miss being able to eat pancakes. I can't have gluten because it could make me severely nauseated. Sometimes I wish my doctor hadn't told my mom that, because she takes it way too seriously. I, however, don't see the point. What can one pancake do?