Mr. Pickles couldn't stop reading over the love letter he took from Ms. Molly's house. It was written to her by her ex-husband, Phineas Mardling, when they were first courting. Phineas really only married her for his own selfish reasons. Had Mr. Pickles not known how evil her ex really was prior to reading the letter though, he might have thought he truly was in love with the woman. The letter was passionate and flattering, yet after analyzing it for hours he could see how manipulative his words really were. Still, Mr. Pickles could not help but be jealous at how well everything flowed on the paper. He felt as if he was holding a secret in his hands. A secret he knew he wasn't supposed to have. He couldn't help but feel guilty over taking it. Before he had the chance to put it back in the small wooden box with the many other letters written to Molly, a thought occurred to him: If he kept the paper in his possession he could use it as a sort of reference for writing his own love letter to Molly.
He finally put the paper down after reading over it at least a dozen more times. He set it above a blank piece of paper and a pencil he had ready in front of him on the round wooden table. He was ready to write; he just needed an idea. Mr. Pickles picked up the pencil in his right hand and tapped the eraser on the wood repetitively, hoping his mind would spark something brilliant.
Mr. Trout was hanging up some laundry to dry on the line by the stove when he noticed the repetitive sound of the tapping pencil his friend was making. He didn't think much of it, until the tapping got more and more anxious. He looked over at Mr. Pickles, who's face was now contorted in confusion. The large man cleared his throat and Mr. Pickles quickly snapped out of his nervous pattern and clumsily dropping his pencil onto the floor. "Oh.. Uh, hello." Mr. Pickles greeted awkwardly as he retrieved his writing tool.
"Are you alright?" Mr. Trout asked. He watched Mr. Pickles hit his head on the table as he tried to sit back up. The tall man sighed, as he rubbed his bald head. "Not really." He admitted. He set down his pencil and slumped in his seat.
Mr. Trout left his laundry and stood beside his friend. "Are you writing something?" He looked at the blank piece of paper, then he thought to himself, Clearly not.
"Well i'm trying, but I guess i'm not very good." Mr. Pickles shrugged.
Mr. Trout caught sight of the letter sitting on the table and picked it up. "Did you write this?" He was impressed as he read on, and he blushed a bit at how personal it became. Then he saw the name at the bottom of the page and thought again, Clearly not.
"AHH! Don't read that!" Mr. Pickles snatched it out of his companions hands and stuffed it back into his jacket. His friend was shocked by his reaction, and furrowed his brow. "Did you steal that from Ms. Molly's house?" the large man questioned.
Mr. Pickles fixed his coat and stuttered, "Wh- What!? N- N- No! Of course not! Wh- Wh- Why would I do such a thing? I have no use for a letter that Molly's e- ex once wrote her. I- I- I- I mean, what would I do with that? Write my own love letter? Pfft!"
There was an awkward moment of silence between the two before Mr. Trout spoke up, "Did you take it because you're jealous?"
Mr. Pickles huffed again, "What would I be jealous of? He was a no good man anyway, Ms. Molly told me so." He crossed his arms defensively, angry from the accusations that were quite possibly true.
Mr. Trout was surprised by this information. He didn't know much about Molly's ex. It wasn't his business to ask. "Oh, well if he wasn't a good person for her it's probably good that he… You know."
Mr. Pickles nodded, thinking about how Molly and Phineas were now separated, "Yes, I suppose it is."
Mr. Trout was a bit uncomfortable, so he piped up, "I hate to say that about the dead, but some people have these things coming. Kind of like Mr. Snatcher." He couldn't believe he could admit something so awful like that, but it was true. Mr. Snatcher was greedy and selfish, if he had actually gotten what he wanted he would have probably still ended up facing the same gruesome fate.
Mr. Pickles paused thinking over what Mr. Trout had just said. He had completely forgotten than he was one of the only few people that knew Molly's husband was still alive. "Oh, y-y-yes. The dead. He should have redeemed himself, like we did!" He was referring to both Snatcher and Phineas. He was glad he did the right thing before something bad could have happened to him.
Still a bit uncomfortable talking about their former boss, Mr. Trout refocused the conversation. "Do you need help writing this letter?" He was a very successful poet, he liked to think. If anyone could use his help it was Mr. Pickles.
Unfortunately, Mr. Pickles was determined to do this on his own, whether it turned out a masterpiece or a dud. "No, no! It has to come from the heart! Also the mind. Don't know if I can listen to my heart and mind at the same time… I'll try my darnedest though!" He smiled and began writing the first words onto the paper, "Dear Ms. Molly." he read aloud, "I think i'm starting to get the hang of this writing thing already!"
Although Mr. Trout was unsure of his friends abilities, he could not argue with the heart. He left his best friend to his work whilst he went back to his laundry. "If you insist. If you need any help i'm still available."
Mr. Pickles ignored his friends last offer as he tapped the pencil to his chin and thought long and hard about what he needed to say. He thought about Ms. Molly every single day of his life since he met her. Not a day went by she didn't cross his mind. Her beautiful green eyes, her golden locks of hair, her sunny smile, and the warm glow of her cheeks were enough to make any man weak in the knees. They were definitely enough to catch him off hi guard. He thought about all of the wonderful traits about Molly, physical and personality, that made his heart flutter. As hard as he thought about it all though he could not seem to translate it all to the paper. As it turns out, writing was much more complicated than he had originally hoped.
He spent hours sitting at that table scribbling out thoughts. Rough draft after rough draft, he just kept cranking out failures. Nothing spoke from the heart the way he needed it to. He concluded that he was more of a man ruled by his brain, and thats what made this so difficult. Nonetheless, he kept pursuing the goal.
It was now past dusk and he was about ready to fall asleep at his working station. There were papers crumpled on the floor and sprawled on the table. He gave a heavy yawn as he read over his final product. "Perfect! Brilliant! Couldn't have said it better myself! Well, I did say it myself actually." he stated proudly, his eyes trying hard to keep open. He signed at the bottom, "love your secret admirer," as not to give away his identity in case she didn't care for the letter. With that he set down his pencil, and let his head rest on the table. His brain was fried from all the work; he just fell asleep right at the table.
Mr. Trout came upstairs to the factory floor to see his colleague fast asleep. He wasn't surprised, Mr. Pickles barely touched his dinner only an hour before. He approached the table and gazed at the mess his friend had made. He then noticed what he assumed was the final draft in Mr. Pickles right hand. Mr. Trout fiddled his fingers as his curiosity crept. He looked around to make sure no one was spying, then proceeded to gently pry Mr. Pickles fingers from the paper. Once he had it, he read it over.
As he read the love note he couldn't help but cringe. It was awful. "Eyes as green as grass? Hair as yellow as cheese glistening in the sun? Oh my…" Mr. Trout groaned. He couldn't let him give this to Molly. It would be too humiliating.
Seeing the pencil still intact and some extra blank paper, he decided to do a favor for his pal and write up just a quick little, better, love letter. Of course, he was not in love with Ms. Molly, so he had to find a different muse for inspiration. He thought about Ms. Pepper as he wrote this soliloquy. When he described any features Ms. Pepper had he would just simply change them to Ms. Molly's feature. Mr. Pickles was so delusional he would have no idea it wasn't his own hand.
It only took a short fifteen minutes for Mr. Trout to write a one page love letter. He read over his work, very pleased with himself, and carefully placed the letter back in his colleague's hand. As soon as the paper touch Monty's skin, his hand got a good grip on it instinctively. Even subconsciously he knew how important this letter was. Mr. Trout sighed, patted his buddy on the back, and went off to bed.