Letters to My 12 Year Old Self
Michael visits his old childhood home in Colarado after his father's death and finds the old letters he sent to himself 22 years ago. He writes back.
The woman's mangled corpse lies at Donald's feet. He gasps in horror; this is the work of his sister Minerva. He has to find her quickly before…
His finger hit the backspace button quickly, erasing that terrible line. He'd been staring at that damning computer screen again, that blinking bar teasing him. Writer's block is a bitch to handle.
He had two weeks to finish this story and send it to an editor, two weeks for a shot to get out there and make it. Two weeks to make some cash to support himself and…
"Michael, come back to bed."
His girlfriend.
His pregnant girlfriend.
"In a minute, baby. I have to finish this last chapter."
"But it's 2 o'clock in the morning."
"I'll be there soon, just go back to sleep."
His girlfriend sighs and turns back over to sleep.
He holds her hand gently and kisses it.
"Soon as I write this story and make it, we'll be living the good life like I promised you. And you." he gestures to her flat stomach.
"I'm going to make our dreams come true."
The next morning Michael is busy eating breakfast when his telephone rang. Curious, he lifts the phone from the receiver and answers.
In four, simple words, his world came apart.
"Michael, your father's dead."