Dear Jack
By: Carol Molliniere
(A/N: So this was something I decided to write today in one sitting. A little drabble of sorts, I think.)
Disclaimer: I don't own ROTG, and my theories that are discussed here are just basically a synonym for poop.
Dear Jack,
I know this might be a bad time for you
MiM looked down at the letter. Was that really the way to start the letter? He tapped the paper with his father's quill pen, then decided it was right and continued.
Dear Jack,
I know this might be a bad time for you, and this might come off as
Come off as what? MiM couldn't find the word...hostile? No, that wasn't it. Annoying? Maybe. A bother? Also an option. He mulled over it some more, then decided it wasn't right and crumpled up the paper before throwing it in the waste basket, and looked down at the new white paper in front of him.
Dear Jack,
I know that you might not be particularly happy about getting this letter from me when I haven't spoken to you in three hundred years, but please read on before throwing it away.
That was probably what it needed. MiM fiddled with the pen in his hand, thinking of what to write next.
Dear Jack,
I know that you might not be particularly happy about getting this letter from me when I haven't spoken to you in three hundred years, but please read on before throwing it away.
I'm sorry for what I did to you, Jack. There are no words that I can write down to apologize enough for my silence.
MiM sighed. Something about this letter didn't seem right. Maybe the wording? Sure, the wording was a little formal, but he was writing it the way he would talk to Jack if the boy were here right now – if the boy had chosen to listen to him. He didn't know whether Jack would choose to listen to him or not, though – after the whole incident with Pitch, did Jack forgive him or not?
Dear Jack,
I know that you might not be particularly happy about getting this letter from me when I haven't spoken to you in three hundred years, but please read on before throwing it away.
I'm sorry for what I did to you, Jack. There are no words that I can write down to apologize enough for my silence. You must have been very sad and angry during all those years
That last sentence sounded cold, as if he were to tell someone he loved them and not mean it. And MiM, strange as it would sound, loved the winter spirit like a father loves their son. He might say that, but those words would never have the careful and apologetic pronunciation that his voice would have when written on paper. And with that, MiM took the paper and crumpled it up, making it suffer the same fate as the paper before it. Then he started over on the third paper.
Dear Jack,
I know that you might not be particularly happy about getting this letter from me when I haven't spoken to you in three hundred years, but please read on before throwing it away.
I'm sorry for what I did to you, Jack. There are no words that I can write down to apologize enough for my silence, but
But what? He could talk to Jack that one time, when he was raising him from the frozen pond. How did that happen again? He strained to use magic to talk to him, even only once, but magic like that was hard and only achieved through the careful use of moonbeams. He couldn't hear Jack any more than North or Bunny could ever agree whether Christmas or Easter was better, but when MiM talked to Jack, Jack could hear him.
A blot appeared on the paper, and the Man in the Moon realized that there was a hundred things wrong with what he was writing. He couldn't hear Jack from the Moon, but if he tried, Jack would be able to hear him. But how was MiM able to know what Jack wanted to hear if he couldn't hear what he was asking for? It was easier to talk that way with Sandy, since he talked in pictures and made good use of body language. With Jack, though...if he could just try...
Why wasn't he trying?
MiM tore the third paper, and threw the parts in the waste basket before slamming his face onto his desk, groaning loudly.
What kind of a person was he for not trying?