//------------------------------//
// 25-7-11 
// Story: A Series of Letters 
// by Dashie04 
//------------------------------//

To, my father, Corn Husk;

Well, that’s nice I guess. I’m sorry, my mind’s just a bit preoccupied right now, everything’s terrible, and ugh! Regardless, I don’t think Mom’s getting any better, nor do I expect her to.

But seriously, that’d be fantastic, the tumor magically gone. I want Mom back. I don’t want this empty shell of her that’s here right now. The one who barely remembers your name, and cheers for you to do great in your battles, and tells you to marry Lance because why not.

In case you can’t tell, I’m angry at the world right now. There’s nothing like taking Mom, who I’ve known all my life, away and leaving a husk of her to add insult to injury. Why does this world hate us so?

Speaking of which, Mom is saying more or less the same things. She loves Slate, vouches for Lance, and cheers you to do well in your battles. She claims she’s doing just great. A complete lie, one she wants to believe.

So, I’ve been thinking, about that question you asked us. What’s it like to work for something against your will? Honestly, I don’t know. I’m not being forced to work against my will. I can imagine, just that idea of ‘I must do this to survive’, when you’d rather just give up. At some point you don’t want to do the repetitive task that allows to live, and what happens next? It’s a thought I’d rather not have, especially when it comes to jobs I’ll have in the future. 

I really understand why you don’t want to do what’s asked of you, even if I don’t like Changelings myself.

Now, as for me, I’m expected to be a good daughter, stay out of trouble, listen to your parents. However, something got to me, and I just didn’t want to. I started rebelling, I started acting tough, listening to My Magical Romance, not doing what was requested of me. Now, I lie here, at what might as well be Mom’s deathbed, and I realize that I took my life for granted.

Honestly the thing that’s really getting to me this time, while Mom’s continued worsening of her symptoms is playing another large part. It’s the fact that I wasn’t a good daughter when she expected me to be. Now, she’s dying, and I’m trying to remedy that by being the best daughter I can be now.

That’s what’s tearing me up inside, the fact that I never acted nice when she expected me to. Now, I sit here, crying as I write this letter, and I wonder, what got into me. It’s like I’ve been smacked upside the head with a buck from a farmer. All at once. Why couldn’t I have been a better daughter, Dad? If I could start all over again, I’d be better.

I’m sorry, it’s just, I don’t understand myself right now.

With all that out of the way, I want to talk about Slate. Mom still loves him, she’ll always love him ‘till the day she dies, which will unfortunately be next week. 7 days, that’s when she’s expected to kick the bucket. Dad, if you don’t come home soon, what will become of us?

I see Slate in a more positive light than the rest of them. I notice Slate truly cares for you, you truly care for him. It’s a mutually beneficial relationship. You get companionship and he gets food, and companionship.  It’s quite amazing all the things he’s done for you. He’s tried to fit in to make you feel better, he’s made you happy, and he’s just all in all a really cool Changeling. I’d call him a pony.

The news about Lance sucks, and as you asked, I won’t tell Mom about the unfortunate situation. I would on the grounds of thinking it’d be funny, but I don’t think it’d be funny in her current state. I mean, I’d expect that with a name like that, she’d be a lesbian. But of course, not all tomboys are lesbians. I think most aren’t actually, I’m just a unique case.

Heck, I’m not even that much of a tomboy right now.

Mom says she’s doing great, and that she’s sending you her condolences. That’s nice, but she’s not doing great.

I’m trying to act all nice. However, everytime I try to, I think back to the scenario I described at the beginning of this letter. You know, the one about me being a terrible daughter. Then I can’t help but to cry. I try not, too. But you know what they say.

Every rose has its thorn
Just like every night has its dawn

Everytime there’s something good that happens, my mood brings it down. My girlfriend’s tried to help me, but I don’t really want to listen. I want to muse.

Now, Jack’s coming to visit Mom more frequently, too. He seems to finally be focusing on something else other than that damned Changeling Civil Rights Protest he’s been doing. I don’t know his feelings, so perhaps I’ll ask him. He’s either more heartless than me or he doesn’t have as much remorse as I do, because I’ve never seen him cry. I don’t know if that’s particularly bad, or if he’s just coping differently. I mean, he was a good son, so who am I to compare myself to him?

Finally, my and Mom’s health.

Now, my mental health is awful. As mentioned, I feel like a terrible daughter. It’s getting me everytime. My physical health is alright. I don’t know of anything that’ll change that. Unless I break my leg somewhere, but that’s a whole different can of worms.

Mom, bless her heart. She’s suffering so much. Her tumor is irreversible, and that much is evident. The doctors can’t help her because they need to research the necessary technologies. I don’t like it, but sometimes, sometimes it’s got to rain. I don’t like this, but maybe there’s a silver lining. I hope you know that silver lining better than I.

Marching in lockstep;
Shine ‘Sparky’ Sparkle