//------------------------------// // 1-7-11 // Story: A Series of Letters // by Dashie04 //------------------------------// To my husband, Corn “Boot Camp” Husk; So, the mailpony was run ragged again. Corny, you’ve gotta stop overworking the poor thing. Thankfully, I was able to read the letter. Sure, just talk about Slate and Lance, I mean, I’m talking about the children every letter, you can tale about your friends. Also, check that Changeling’s hand, who knows what he has, he’s built his life on deception, who says he can’t pull a Royal Flush every time he wants to? He probably reshuffles the cards to benefit him and him only. Jack is very disappointed that I’ve reverted to Changeling speciesism, alright, it was just a joke! You have no need to get a twisted up over it! As for what I’ve done, nothing much. The headache has not gone away. I have some terrible news about that later on. The headache makes it very difficult to do much of anything. However, I wouldn’t miss writing you a letter for the world, Corny. Ok, so you’re treating Slate as an equal, that’s nice. I presume you haven’t told him about the reformation requirements, nor do I expect him to have truly made a friend with you and Lance and thus have enough love to share. I mean, Dame Moondancer didn’t say anything about reformation requirements, but I’m expecting there’s at least a lower limit, if not an upper one. So, it’s not like I’ve been moving much. I’ve been relocated into the hospital because the doctors found something very worrying. All of are suspicions have been proven uncannily correct, as they found a brain tumor. The doctors let me know that they don’t exactly have a way to remove it at the moment, but they can ease the pain and perhaps try to kill it. It’s very scary, especially with my family history. It’s also terrible for many reasons, among them that I’m so young and this shouldn‘t be happening to me. They made that clear as well. Regardless, they’ll try the darnedest to take the thing out, but they can’t make any promises. So, I really hope that you’ll come home soon, no need to worry and run away, as I’m not in any immediate danger. So long as you get home before I die, we’ll be all good. Jack and Sparky have been seeing me on the daily, still doing the things they do. I’m fairly certain that Jack preaches to the ponies inside here, as he constantly gets thrown out. He always comes back though, I’m a little surprised he hasn’t been arrested for disturbing the peace (ironic) yet. I’ll tell him to just stop with the Changeling equality preachings the next time he comes in. Sparky’s worried like heck. I can’t believe just how much she loved me until the brain tumor was discovered and she broke down crying. It seems like the toughest ponies are sensitive inside. Despite that downer, and the terrible food, I’ve been doing alright. I’m writing on the nightstand next to the bed for these, as I can still write. On the plus side, I now know how you feel when you complain about MREs. You have permission to complain about those all you want. Unfortunately, the hospital doesn’t have any record players, so your Beatles records will be collecting dust for just a few more days. Hopefully not weeks, however, I’ll be dead by then. With that, I’ll have to say that your offer of fun is no longer accepted, as I shouldn’t be doing that in my state. So, the children are devastated. Despite Jack’s insistence that Changelings are ponies too, and the fact that nopony listens to a 15 year old in the first place, he still feels very sad for me. He says that he hopes you’ll be able to see us all together one more time. Sparky cries a lot. She’s so tough, but I’m fairly certain of so much time hiding her feelings behind a wall and being trapped in the proverbial closet, she’s kept all her feelings bottled up. When she heard that I probably wasn’t going to last another year, she released those feelings all at once. She’s coming more frequently than Jack, probably because she isn’t thrown out every odd day. Regardless, she still loves us and hopes you’ll come back one more time. Well, life could be better. A brain tumor kind of puts a damper on the party, but other than that, I’ve made the most of my time. I want to spend more time with family, because I really want to spend my last days on Equis as best as I possibly can. They’e giving me very crappy food. They claim that it’s a well-balanced diet, but it all tastes like chalk. I don’t know what chalk tastes like, but a student has given a rough description of the flavor to me. They say it tastes like solidified dust, which is pretty much what the food here tastes like. I’m pretty sure they’re still depositing your paycheck at home, so I’m probably going to have to ask the hospital staff to dig through our mail. I do want to send you eating money, especially now since I know your pain. If the MREs taste like chalk, than I can’t imagine how good it must feel to receive money enclosed in your letter. I know I’d be very happy. My health is a hot mess. I mean, it’s not getting any better. I can’t expect a brain tumor to feel very good at all, and I certainly don’t feel very good. Also, the hospital staff is giving me just a few months to live, perhaps shorter. I will be doing the same thing you did to the mailpony so we’re able to keep in as much touch as possible. I want to keep you updated, and I’m sure you want to get updated as quickly as possible. I certainly want to correspond more before I die. Wish you the best. With all love and affection, Chrissy. PS: That sucks, please tell me that the next one will be better.