The letter was from a man I thought dead.
"Dear Peter," it read, "I've missed you and your wily ways. Thinking of you has caused me joy and much anguish. . . " on and on he wrote, and lastly, the event which triggered his demise. He signed, begged me to write.
A cruel hoax; the perpetrator must be revealed. I wrote, asking for proof of his existence.
Weeks later a woman knocked. I opened and saw my friend in her face and the glittering object in her hand.
"This is proof from Leo," were the last words I heard.
"Dear Peter," it read, "I've missed you and your wily ways. Thinking of you has caused me joy and much anguish. . . " on and on he wrote, and lastly, the event which triggered his demise. He signed, begged me to write.
A cruel hoax; the perpetrator must be revealed. I wrote, asking for proof of his existence.
Weeks later a woman knocked. I opened and saw my friend in her face and the glittering object in her hand.
"This is proof from Leo," were the last words I heard.
