Disclaimer:  I own everything.  Mwa ha ha ha.  Just kidding.  Newies doesn't belong to me.

[A/N]: This story is written COMPLETELY in DOCUMENT FORM.

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Documented

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Chapter One

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Madison Square

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Dear Completely Random Person,
            This is STUPID.  Letter writing is STUPID.  Sorry, the only reason why I'm writing this letter is because my English teacher wants to revive the lost art of letter-writing.  His name is Denton, because there is a dent in his head where his brain should be.  Actually, I'm lying.  But he does wear weird bowties everyday, so something must be wrong with his head.  Wearing bowties is OUT, just like letter-writing.
            I hope Denton doesn't read this, because then I'll fail English, which would be a bad thing.
            So.  You will be my pen pal.
            Pen pal, I'm supposed to brief you with a few basics:
            My name is Jack Kelly.  Actually, it's Francis Sullivan, but if you ever call me that I will NEVER forgive you.  NEVER.  I will be very ANGRY.  You can also call me Cowboy.
            I like to ride horses, as my name suggests.  My horse's name is Santa Fe.  She's a beauty.  Chestnut colored and her coat's always shiny.  Her name is Santa Fe because that's where I want to go.  I hear that in Santa Fe everything is bigger.  The sky, the sun, the desert.
            Anyway.  I'm seventeen years old (senior in high school).
            I'm supposed to fill you in on my family, but I don't think you want to hear it.  I'm also supposed to tell you my favorite subjects.  Well, guess what.  I don't have one.  My best subject is study hall.
            I can, however, tell you that I have a very nice girlfriend named Sarah.  We've been together for almost a year.
            I'm also supposed to tell you that I am very happy to be writing to you and that I hope you will write me back.
            Honestly, I don't care.  And you probably don't, either.
            So.  What's your name?  What do you like to do?  Age?  Etc?  Sorry, I'm required to write that.

Sincerely,
Jack Kelly
NOT Francis Sullivan

Dear Jack Kelly,
            The Weasel is breathing down my neck so I have to be nice (He's my English teacher.  He sucks.  I'm already failing English so I can say that).
            He's gone.
            You're one of those rich private school boys, aren't you?  You have to be, because all these letters are from Central Prep and that's the huge school a block away from us.  In case you haven't figured it out, I'm from Duvall High, the public school down the street.
            Another reason why I know you're a nice private school boy is because you have a horse.  Only rich spoiled brats like riding horses all day.
            Sorry, that was mean.
            And only stupid people would want to move to Santa Fe.  Please.  Bigger desert?  Bigger sky?  Bigger sun?  You know what's big in New York?  EVERYTHING.
            Sorry, that was mean, too.
            I agree with you completely about the letter-writing.  It is DEAD.
            I tried telling Weasel this, but he just threatened to fail me.  Like I said, though, I'm already failing, so the threat didn't work as well as he thought it would.
            Now, getting straight to the point:
            My name is Simon Conlon but it you ever call me that I'll SHOOT you with my dad's old shotgun he left behind.  Mom hid it but I know where it is.  If you write 'Simon Conlon' on your envelope next time, don't expect a letter back EVER.  Expect a madman at your window with a great big gun.  Call me Spot.  Long story.
            I like hitting things.  Not joking.  When I was younger I was always getting in trouble for starting fights.  Since then I've started boxing.  You get to hit things and it's part of the game.  That's my kind of sport.  If you ever have a problem that needs fixing, call me, and I'll whip whatever guy's ass.
            Whoops.  I wrote a - - .  I'm not supposed to do that because it's vulgar.
            I also like my bass (the guitar one, not that huge string instrument).  I got my first one when I was eight years old and I haven't stopped playing.
            I'm seventeen, too!  Last year of high school!
            You probably don't want to hear about my family, either, but to put it shortly, my dad got my mom pregnant with me, then left her for another woman.  I think I may have a half brother out there somewhere.  So basically my dad's a DICK—sorry—bad person but he gives me money through the mail a lot so I'm not complaining.
            Believe it or not, my best subject is physics.  Seriously.  I'm taking AP and I'm acing it.  I astound myself a lot.
            How can you stay with one girl for a whole year?  My longest relationship ever with anyone was three weeks, tops.  My shrink says I have commitment issues because I don't want to turn out like my dad.  She says I have a lot of issues, but really I started there when I was little and I only go back for the pills and her legs.  She's HOT.  Maybe I should give you her name?
            Why am I even telling you this?  You don't care.

Sincerely,
Spot

p.s. remember to write 'Spot' on the envelope otherwise I will never write to you again.

Name: Bryon Denton
Class: English 12
Week: March 12-17
Monday: Introduce letters; short story analysis
Tuesday: short story analysis; introduce essay
Wednesday: Work day—conference with students on papers
Thursday: letters; short story analysis
Friday: POP QUIZ!

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End Chapter One

[A/N]:

My fic Heavy Metal is being put on hold because I'm having a big brain block.  I get those a lot.  ::sigh::

On a lighter note, I wrote this fic in documents because it's different.  I did the same for Letters to an Almost Cowboy, and it was fun, so I decided to do it again!  Yay!

Review please!!!!