The reverend sat at a small desk in the rectory. A hurricane lamp burned kerosene, illuminating the desk and not much more. His chin in hand he gazed into the darkness, deep in thought.

With a sigh he took a piece of paper from the small drawer below the desk, then a pen from its well.

He began to write.

My dearest Melissa,

I hope this letter finds you well. Much has happened since I left for Lurleen. I long to tell you about it face to face. I hope and pray you’ll reconsider my offer to join me here.

There is a fantastic train terminal here. The biggest building you have probably ever seen. Travertine floors, great marble arches, enormous wooden chandeliers with great big bulbs that light the place up wonderfully. Although it’d be much more lovely if you were there.

The Synod blessed me with a small church just a few blocks from the terminal. The parsonage is small but charming. It could use a woman’s touch. I could use a woman’s touch, for that matter.

The congregation is small as well, but they are polite and generally attentive during services. These are mostly poor people and the offertory is often very little, but the Great Synod manages to send enough to keep things moving along. I hope to raise enough money to fund a mission back home.

How is Pastor Lew doing? Have you attended any of her services? I hear she can really bring down the fire and brimstone when she gets fired up!

I do miss you terribly.

I do hope you are well.

Sincerely, I remain,

Rev. Thomas Doolittle Goodhope

p.s. Please write back soon!

In the morning he posted the letter as he made his way to the church. Much fellowship was to be had that day.

Checking the post almost hourly, he knew there was no possible way he would receive a reply quickly, but the anticipation would overcome him, forcing him to find a reason to check the mail.

In two days time he received a letter from home. The envelope was small. No return address. A five sent stamp. Looking about, he quickly shoved the letter into his coat pocket.

He rushed through the Wednesday service, saying the spirit was calling him to sing more than teach. After a few hymns he sent the congregation home, skipping the fellowship dinner. Apparently the gas wasnt working on the stove. Mice had gotten to the bread. The rice had mildewed.

As soon as the last parishioner left, he flew to the rectory, robes flapping rhythmically.

Lighting the kerosene, adjusting the wick, his shaking hand slowly opened the envelope.

And he read:

Go to hell you damned loser. I cant believe you even have the nerve to write me. Cant you take a hint you idiot? That’s all you are and that’s all you’ll ever be, a stupid loser. I hate you so much the only reason I would ever want to see you again is if I could spit on you I would!!! I never loved you, I was temporarily insane!! You played havoc with my head thats all. I have become such a better person and I have come to like myself a lot better since you left my life, I thank God every day that I came to my senses and realized what a losing Parasite you really are! You make me sick! I’m not even writing this on stationary because you’re not worth it, I cant believe I’m even spending 5 cents on this letter. If I never hear from you again it will be too soon you idiot!!! If you ever come near me or my girls ever again…. you’ll wish you had never been born! I never want to hear from you again, I dont even want to hear rumors about you! Is this a good enough hint for you you idiot? Well, if it’s not because I know (unfortunately) how stupid you are SCRAM CHUMP!!! [4 lines tall, double underlined]

Melissa

The reverend sat slowly back into his chair. Its agonizing creak echoing through the rectory. Dusk was quickly becoming evening. He glanced at the letter in his hand. He put a finger to his lips as he pondered.

Absentmindedly he hummed an old Mozart tune, counting something on his fingers.

Taking a piece of paper from the drawer below the desk, and a pen, he began to write.

My dearest Miriam,

I hope this letter finds you well.