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A Letter For Emily

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Your name is Emily and you are not having a good day. Your mom sent you into town to pick up the seeds you were supposed to have picked up yesterday. The seeds were a quick purchase, and you could have gone straight home. You were curious though, you wanted knowledge, and so you went to visit Honda. It was never too early to start planning for Brie’s next birthday. As you walk in, Honda looks up from the counter and locks eyes with you. You wave a hand and give a polie good morning, the reaction to which should be another good morning. Honda did not wish you a good morning though, instead he adopted a look of deep sadness and rustles under the counter.

“This is, uh, a letter from Brie,” he said, passing along a piece of folded paper.

When you open it you can’t help but smile at Brie’s messy handwriting. Calling it chicken scrabble would be generous. Your smile quickly dropped as you read the contents.

Dear Emily,

Thank you for the scarf! It’s very warm and smells like flowers. I hope everything is going well when you get this. I have some bad news, which you might have already heard. I’ve been drafted, as well as Abe. We don’t have a choice, so we’re leaving with my dad this morning. I wanted to write something to tell you goodbye, since I won’t find you before I’m gone. I never really got to hang out with you but from the moments we’ve shared I can tell you’re an amazing mouse. I can’t promise all my letters will reach you, but I’ll try to send as many as I can. And hey, maybe I’ll find some of my siblings out there! I’ll get to see all the cool guns and deer as well. Hopefully we can meet again soon. Bye!

Love,

Brie.

By the end of the note tears are streaming down your face and you have to sit down. Brie is as good as dead. Not officially of course, but you know the truth about being drafted. Most mice leave and never make it back. Heck, Brie’s siblings barely send letters back and you know how much they love their parents. Fear drapes over you like a heavy blanket. To his credit Honda is trying to calm you down, but you just aren’t processing it. You can’t believe the last memory Brie has of you is you stuttering as you hand over your scarf and running away. You can’t help but burst into tears again. By the time you make it home the fear has turned into dread. You were never a religious mouse, but you might start praying now.