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To me,
Wish you were here? Of course you do! Here I am, growing irate at how long it’s taking for my poolside Sprite to arrive, and there you are, at home, wondering if you’ll ever taste the carcinogenic air of another London postcode again, never mind grill yourself under the Mediterranean sun. Well I’m writing to let you know: of course you will! Chin up – and be careful what you wish for.
You x
PS: The resort shop only sells these novelty postcards of animals copulating. Sorry.
To me,
A heads up: the day after receiving this, buoyed with hope for the future, you decide to go for a jog that takes you further than the end of your road (there’s nothing wrong with your ankles – quit moaning), and for the first time in weeks, sweat will begin to itch your unruly eyebrows, just as it does mine now (where is that Sprite?). Lost in the moment, you’ll wipe the sweat away with your knuckles before realising it has been over forty-five minutes since you last washed your hands, causing you to hyperventilate with the certainty that this reckless face-touch will be your downfall. Relax! It won’t be. Not that one anyway.
Stay alert! You x
To me,
Boy, did you ever pile on the pounds. I mean, look at me! We’ve never been the Peacock of the Poolside – true – but now. Jeez. Do you really need to buy three tubs of humus every time you go for your daily walk? Are those really essential? Also, all those people saying, ‘Make the most of this time’ – listen to them! Seriously. Binge-watching ‘Tiger King’ in your dressing gown doesn’t count. Oh, and good luck at the testing station next week. I would tell you the results, but I know how much you hate spoilers, and it would only be redacted anyway – there’s only so much I can say.
You x
To me,
Well. You got complacent, didn’t you? You thought, even if you do contract it, you essentially have a written guarantee that you’ll recover. The hubris! The naivety! And now look at you. Oh, you thought I was writing from the future? I see. Too many sci-fi films, I think. As far as I can tell, there is no past, present, or future at this resort (two-star at best, avoid the buffet). Now, what has happened tothat Sprite? I’ve been waiting forever. Safe trip!
You x
To me,
Wish you were here? Of course you do! Here I am…
About Richard Lee-Graham
Richard Lee-Graham is a London based writer who studied creative writing at Central Saint Martins and has attended workshops at City University of London. In 2017, his short story, ‘The Euth of Today’, was shortlisted and published in in Storgy Magazine’s Exit Earth anthology. Common themes in Richard’s work are death, time, and life’s misfits. His greatest influences are the novels of Kurt Vonnegut, the journalism of The New Yorker, and the music of David Bowie. You can find more of his work on his blog; rlgwrites.com, or get in touch via Twitter: @RLGwrites.
