Brother-less

4/28/16

Brother-less

Jared,

Stop writing me these letters.  I don’t care about your fucking asthma and I don’t want to remember anything about you or know anything more about what you did.  Knowing of it is already too much.  I knew Mr. Ashley and Auntie were fucking; the rest of the town knew too.  It was nothing to know.  Stop calling me your brother, because we haven’t been brothers in a long time, maybe not ever.  I want to FORGET you, Libby, Mr. Ashley, and even Auntie. 

You don’t have to write me another fucking letter to tell me about that midnight.  I know what happened, Jared.  I was there.  Don’t put it on paper.  Don’t write me again.  And leave Libby the fuck alone too, she was always going to leave your ass anyway.  Just like me she was damn tired of hearing you bitch and whine about you and your problems. 

 

FUCK OFF,

Jarred

P. S. ASTHMA DOES NOT MEAN SHIT.

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Posted on April 30, 2016, in Clock Block, Dark Comedy, Fiction, Letter, poetry and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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