Ex Pen Pals || michael clifford

0.1

10th September, 2011

Dear random person,

So my English teacher was babbling about how back in the Stone Age they didn't have iPhones and how they had to write each other to communicate. Then I think the devil farted in her brain because now she's making my entire class write pen pal letters like we're all frigging five years old. I know what you may be thinking; I sound like an ass but believe me, I'm not. I just hate writing because I think I suck at it and in the end, especially if I do things like this, I realized that 75% of the letter would just be me going on and on about random shit.

Like, some people have the nervous habit of going on and on about absolutely nothing, I mean they would just talk and talk and talk and you’d want to shoot them; but not me. Well, yeah, I do it too but this rolls over to when I write. I go on and on and on about nothing, just like I'm doing now.

I really just don't see the need of doing things like this to be honest. And no, my teacher said she won't be reading these before she sends them off to God knows where so I could be as blunt as I want to be. About the pen pal thing; like, I get the idea and all. I mean, if you write I get to see how smart you are (which means I probably sound incredibly stupid). She also said I should try talk about myself but for all I know this letter could be going to a 45 year old pervert who masturbates in his basement when he sees pictures of like, cats or something. But again, I'm being forced, it’s for my grade, I never fail, so here goes.

The name's Abigail Evans. I'm almost 16 and I’m a junior (yes, I jumped a grade) so I'm almost out of high school (hurray!). This is the point in time when they dump all that grow up and get your life together nonsense on you after wasting like, so many years. I still don't know what I want to do with my life. Especially, since they thought us no life skills. Like, how do I pay a water bill? I certainly can’t do it by finding a missing benzene ring.

My teacher, the one who had the devil farting in her head, said I should do novels. She’s really convinced I'm a badass writer. She probably thinks so because I wear glasses. Isn’t that weird? Most writers wear glasses. Shit, I'm babbling again. But I think I might end up being like a John Green or a Veronica Roth, or something like that. If you didn’t see the trend, they’re both equally creepy, yet awesome writers. Only when I do it, I’d just be creepy, like I am right now.

But Yeah, Abby, 16 (almost), and supposed writer in the making. I use that term lightly because at this point, my writing is shit, if I should say so myself. I live in a town that's nestled somewhere so secluded that if you dump a body here it would never be found. Everything in this town is named after something happy; Sunny Brooks, Paradise, Smileyberg, dumb stuff like that. I think it’s like a con to trick the people here into being happy. It doesn't work on me though. I'm mostly a loner too (surprise surprise). And incase you missed it; I'm also a nerd. It’s a known fact, since like, the beginning of time that those two go together. You're a loner because you're a nerd or you're a nerd because you're a loner. I can't tell you which I am though. Ah, hell, who am I kidding? People have been ignoring me since I was three.

 I don't know, people find me weird because I don't cry or scream when I hear One Direction music, or like, this thing girls my age do. They call it fangirling I think? I don’t know. I just haven’t found anything fangirl worthy. They've never really excited me (One Direction, that is). Don’t get me wrong; I have nothing against the group. It just isn’t my style of music.  I'm more of a We The Kings, Boys Like Girls, GreenDay and Linkin Park kinda girl; I like noise. I live with my dad because my mom thought that having a kid was slowing her life down so she bailed when I was three. She was a drunk anyway so there's not much to miss. Although, it gets lonely sometimes because my dad’s not, like rich so he just works himself into a pulp just to pay the bills and I hardly ever see him.

She just told us we have to wrap up now. I noticed I've given you enough information to track me down. I'll have you know; I carry a pocket knife in my bag and it happens to be very sharp.

If you've reached this far, I won't blame you if you end up shooting yourself. Trust me; this was more painful to write than it was for you to read.

I can't say 'love' because I don't know you like that.

So, ah. Peace!

Abby .

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20th September, 2011

Dear Abigail Evans,

Your letter made it all the way to Sydney. Just so you know, that's in Australia. Contrary to what you said it wasn't painful to read actually. I found it quite enjoyable. Your style is... how should I say? Unique? You had me laughing so hard and I haven’t done that in a while, so thanks. I can't say I've ever had the devil fart in my brain so I'm desperately trying to imagine what it would feel like. Can you have your teacher explain it and tell me? I don't have to do this, but I feel obligated to write you a letter for all your trouble you went through. You sounded like you really hated doing it.

 Also, the writing doesn't stink on ice. I don't know if that's what they say. But it was quite remarkably expressive. I picture you being the type of girl to pour your heart out on the first date. Personally, I think that could be because your mother bailed on you so you have, like, no female person to look up to. Then you said you're a loner too so that could also be it. I also, don't cry over One Direction. They're not so bad though, they're music, I mean. I just think they're over sold a bit too much (even though I am a fan; just so we’re clear. I just don’t cry over them). I'm now blocked and I have nothing else to say. I don't want the letter to end here though, it seems too lame. I'll leave it and come back later.

Holy shit! I'm such a retard. It took me two days to realize I didn't tell you who I was. To start off, I'm not 45 nor do I live in my mother's basement. I am however, already 16 and I do masturbate. So I guess you got one thing right about me. But I don't think you needed to know that. Let's leave it in for good humour. I uh, got held back a year in high school because I'm such a badass and I'm way too cool for school.

Who am I kidding? I got really sick and had to stay home for a year. My name, right, I haven't put that in yet. It's Clifford. Michael Clifford. And if it already didn't occur to you; read that part in a James Bond voice. If it's no trouble, could you write me back? I mean you don't have to I just enjoyed your writing so much.

Also, I can’t harm you because you didn’t put your address in the letter. So, this will be sent to your school. But you having a pocket knife doesn’t really phase me.

And I’ve had pet cats so it would be disgusting if I masturbated to pictures of them. I prefer boobs over anything else.

In a last attempt to make me sound cooler than I already am, read this letter with an Australian accent. I noticed you say ‘shit’ very often. Is it like, a habit or is it a fact that you don’t know that many adjectives?

I also can't say 'love' because I don't know you. I need a word sassier than 'peace' though.

Yolo,

 Mikey.

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So, the first chapter is up and no Abigail is not me! I put both letters in so you can get a gist of what this is basically about and where I want it to go. I'll post one at a time from now own. If you're reading this, thank you and I love you and you seriously rock!!

I'll probably update every Thursday

Always... check out @Fivesauceoption's stories... She played a big part in me writing this. 

I love your sexy faces.