Alex Letter 1

(Note: Fiction)

Dear Meredith,

I know that it's bizarre to be opening a letter from me. Don't you start with that dismissive look, the one that you flash over the rims of your trendy glasses. Believe me, it's an even crazier feeling for me to be writing this. I wouldn't be doing it if I weren't completely desperate. But not in the way that you're thinking. I am not that desperate. I have plenty of options as far as that category of life is concerned.

The subject of this note is not myself by my brother, your dear boyfriend, though it disgusts me to apply that appellation to him. Ever since his miraculous recovery from that sickness (I still blame something suspicious in the Latin Club bake sale brownies, but nobody listens to me), something has been wrong with Michael. Creepy things are happening around here. The situation is dire. You have to help me figure this out. We should meet in person to discuss this further. Any time of day that does not conflict with marching band practice should be negotiable.

Thanks,
Alexander


(Note: to be continued)