Dear Darling

[1- Sebastian]

             Typically, a Monday morning alarm would come off as a death sentence; the Evil Queen’s go-signal for a hanging at the morning executions (with you as the criminal); the end of all happiness and joy set up by the wonder days that was the weekend. Every working man dreaded to wake up in the morning realizing it was Monday: back to work. Throwing away their glasses of alcohol, trading it for whatever instrument they used to make a living. It seemed like a crime to have only two and a half days of time off—the half being Friday night— during the week, while the most of it was used for work, work, work. Some people even worked on weekends. But even those people savored the slipping hours pre- Monday.

            Sebastian Hughes enjoyed the weekends himself, like any other working fellow. Half of Saturday and the whole of Sunday were his only off time from work. One would expect that he would be cursing on his phone when it started to blare out the sound of a Monday morning wake. But as much as he enjoyed his time off, as much as he savored those limited hours of rest and freedom, Sebastian was actually more than eager to shut of his alarm and greet the new workweek with a happy note.  Joyfully, he sang “My Girl” in the shower, and hummed it while he brushed. Ecstatic, he threw on a white shirt over his upper half, jumped into a fresh pair of jeans, and tied his feet into a pair of Converse sneakers. In glee, he munched down on his favorite cereals and gulped down the questionable taste of his orange juice.

            “Good Morning, Mrs. Harper!” he sang gaily to his next door neighbor while he locked the door to his apartment, and while she was opening her own, back from the mailboxes downstairs.

            Mrs. Harper, on the other hand, detested Mondays mornings… or rather, any morning for that matter, like it were some sort of weapon that can separate one’s head from its body. She was a kind woman, mother of four, but she was no morning person. Sebastian was not surprised when she threw him a death glare and the finger upon his own cheery greeting. It was better that she threw them at him instead at her children. Still, nothing could ruin his day, especially not today. He threw his black leather jacket—cliché, he knew—over his shoulder and ran down the stairs to get to his own mailbox.

            It was an old fashioned practice, and no one would have expected a man like Sebastian to be doing it, but he was excepting a new letter from his pen pal. Every Monday, he could find a new envelope tucked into his locker since all mail delivery was withheld on Sundays. Ridiculous as it may seem, this Monday morning letter was the reason why Sebastian would always be caught in a bright light on Mondays. He and his pen pal were aware that Facebook, iMessage, eHarmony, or any other social media, along with texting, were the way to go to meet and talk with a stranger and befriend them. But they were happier to do it by written hand rather than by typing keys. It just seemed more personal and intimate. Besides, who doesn’t enjoy walking up to their mailbox to find there was something more personal inside other than bills and some subscriptions?

            It started a year ago when Sebastian was on his time off. During his Sundays, he enjoyed pleasuring himself in the public library. Sundays were the perfect day to leisure himself in there, while all his friends were either resting or still on the clock at the diner. It wasn’t that he was embarrassed to be known as a bookworm or a regular at the library, he just hated hearing people’s reactions when they found out that he actually enjoyed those type of things. He was tempted to cut off his ears whenever people started reacting to his dream of becoming a novelist. Owning a roaring motorcycle, tainted with a few tattoos on his skin, and a suave personality, he was stereotyped as someone badass, someone who would spend his Sundays in a bar, drinking beer and hooking up with various women. Truth be told, he did do those things, but nothing excited him more than a book. He had a deep fascination reading up histories of different countries, their cultures and a like, but he enjoyed nothing more than the works of Edgar Allan Poe.