After The End

by Coral Tawnies

These Tragic stories are continuing on from when Beatrice sank, and as a descendant of Kit Snickett, it is my duty to continue on with what her brother never could. But you are free to shut this computer down and go far far away where no computers are available, so that these tragic words may not reach you.

1. The Shopping Bag

How these terrible records came to be published, and an unfourtunate letter.

As I crouch behind this Bitter Apple tree, clutching a shopping bag containing the grappling hook, a sample of the incredibly deadly vipers dead skin, pretty penny's many outfits, the lipstick that was worn by Shirley (the colour is called 'a shade lighter than blood' if you must know), a tiny packet containing hand-made staples, a shred of pinstripe cloth from Sunny's suit (now 'out'), a feather from the harpooned V.F.D crow, rust scraped off the craniectomous blade, a tiny shard of wood from the plank over the lion pit, the fork from Quigley's left climbing shoe, a triangular lens from Fiona's glasses, ashes collected from the Hotel Denouement's rubble, and a seed from the bitter apple that I have just eaten, it dawns on me that the stories beyond 'The End' (Mr Snickett, 2006) have not been told. People do not know what happened. The simple clue 'Beatrice Sank' was there for those who needed to see it, but was all. It dawns on me, a phrase which here means 'my tangled and confusing mind realises something in a bolt from the blue' that my records (also in the shopping bag) need to be seen by the eyes of not only my associates, but the people who need to know the truth. Lemony's readers need to understand and learn the events after 'The End' no matter how woeful, disturbing and simply unfortunate they are. I remove my precious, precious, research and records from the bag and dig a hole in the sandy ground exactly four feet and nine inches deep. I place the shopping bag inside and fill the hole back in. I then draw an intricate pattern two centimetres away from the edge of the shopping bag's grave. To my associates it is a sign, and to my enemies, it is a warning. The Sugar Bowl! I realise. Then run.

To Beatrice Baudelaire the eighteenth,

I am writing to you from a very cold and dark place my love, but I will most probably still be alive by the time you receive this letter. The next time you visit the house of Justice Strauss, which, if I am not wrong, should be in two days from now, tell the inhabitants you wish to know if the world is quiet here. If they respond with silence, reach out your hand and in it they will place the first chapter of my research, AFTER the end, into the lives of the Baudelaires, and all those involved in their miserable lives, titled simply, Violet. If they do not respond with silence, run.

With all due love

Lemony

P.S (I am not really sure who I am any more)

Violet is coming soon. Please review, this is my first fan fiction!