{Dear Clomprex}; or The Dissolution of a Union: A Tragedie in Three Acts

Dear Clomprex; or The Dissolution of a Union: A Tragedie in Three Acts
as First Set Down by Pliny III
and Further Elaborated by Randall “Steven” Duchy,
Here Presented for the First Time in its Native Englishe.
Second Edition.

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From the Journal of Randall “Steven” Duchy.

June 19, —-

Yeah so, like, I was on break from my shift at Wendy’s, and I was hanging out behind the dumpster with Jim and Monkey Balls. And, like, Monkey Balls said “Hey Steven”—my nickname is Steven, which is why he called me that—and he was like, “What’s that thing behind the dumpster, man?” And, like, I went to go look and I found this weird, like, old-timey stack of letters. You know, like how old letters look and they’re all stacked on top of each other and tied together with a string and stuff? And so, like, I took the letters home and, like, read them and, like, wrote them down and stuff. It’s weird, man. These people are weird.

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Dearest Nicole,

Once again, we are forced apart by time and circumstance. That littlest fluff, known by us as ‘the bean’ and by all else as Mms. Marlowe, has forced me from our bed-room and onto the resting chaise. It is my sincerest wish that we could be together, but the bean is, as always, quite insistent. I shall try to sleep, but I fear that the effort will be futile. My only comfort is knowing that we shall soon be together once again.

Yours in Suffering,
– L

******

My Beloved Husband,

It, as always, is a dagger in my heart to rouse from my marital bed and discover you are gone, your sheets rumpled and cold. I would search all the worlds to find you well, but if you have found the sweet peace of sleep as your time away from me lengthens, I dare not disturb you.

Forever yours,
N

******

Beloved Nicole,

I regret that I have found not the peace of sleep but instead the furious assault of Marlowe’s invasive brand of love. I will never be the same.

I have forgotten my spectacles upstairs. I cannot see. I cannot think. I fear this may be the end.

The bean is growling at sounds I cannot hear. I fear that she is warning me of something.

Later,

There are things in the wall. The bean knows.

God help me.

Yours, Even in Death,
– L

******

My Greatest Love,

I have grown fearful. I mustered the energy to follow your path and reunite with both you and our most boorish bean as well as bestow upon your hirsute features your forgotten spectacles. But upon entering our parlor, I found nary a trace of your presence. My love, where have you gone? Who has taken you? There is a chilling sound of rain encased in music; I think I hear faint chanting. Do I enter the wild to find you, at risk of my own person? Or do I wait, with agitated spirit and soul, and hope for your swift return?

Thinking of your loving embrace,
N

******

D€arest ℵiCOØl3,

Do næt worrie, fellow hum@n. I am fine. I hav3 gone on vacation to…VancÜver. Yesz. That plasse. Surele yμ will fa⌋l for tπat.

I heav left the b∈∈∈n under the coωch. She mād t∞ much noyys for us. And h∃r mΟuth stanck. You whill fynÐ heΓ whΘl and und∀mejed. We33 halv spσσken.

Yours, Totally Not Kidnapped by Cosmic Bees,
– L

******

Foulest of Creatures, Thee of the Stinging Buttocks,

You have absconded with he to whom I have willingly given my heart. Not only that—you have turned my precious and boisterous bean into a shivering, mute bundle of fur and bones. And I do not give you permission. I have skills such as you may not know or understand; powers that extend beyond the cosmos into the great thereafter. Your intrusion will not stand. If it is pain and destruction you seek, look no further.

Vigilant in Vexation,
Your Unknowing Nightmare

******

Nicole,

This was supposed to be a joke. I was hiding in the closet, and I was going to jump out in a bee costume. But now I’m stuck under the boiler. Don’t ask how it happened. I’m hungry. Please help.

Yours in Pain,
– L

******

Lawrence,

Um. Yes, of course. I knew that. I was just, err, getting you back. I could hear you breathing in there. Obviously. So, you know, just forget that last one. It’s, uh, fine. Do you need me to call maintenance? Or just slide a sandwich under the door.

Yours in Humor,
N

Postscript—
I’m not a galactic enchantress in any way, shape, or clormprex.

Post-postscript—
I meant form. Way, shape, or FORM

******

My Galactic Empress,

Clormprex? That’s hot. You could even say it gave me a BONEr.

Important context: I’m a skeleton now. Finally, I’m living my dream.

I’m sorry for my dad joke. It’s hard to be funny when you’re dead.

Twist: I was dead the whole time.

Yours,

L

******

Oh, Chalkiest Mass of Collagen,

I think we should see other people.

N