Well for those of you who were deprived of the literary masterpiece that was the first part, here you go. I remembered about this thing while I was supposed to be writing a press release for school, of course, and since I had nothing else to do except for that report that was supposed to have been emailed 3 hours ago, the preparation for my 12th grade, the editing of a few articles for the school magazine, I figured I might as well give this one another shot. It might have been an ill-thought out decision. Feel free to tell me so in the comments (especially so if you disagree, a girl can’t ever have too much validation, wouldn’t you agree?)


“My throne, of course, was usurped by the man down the street. He was a piece of work, that one. More tea?”

“Sure.” The pouring out of the hot beverage took a few comfortable seconds.

“You wouldn’t know it to look at him—in fact the very opposite, to be honest. He’d offer me lemonade every time I biked by his house—he had no children, you see.  My mother said it was a shame, he had the nicest eyes—and my father wondered what that had to do with anything. ‘Somethin’ wrong with his noggin’, he always said whenever I brought him up, tapping the side of his head and whispering. He seemed like a perfectly nice, normal man.”

“That is, until he usurped your throne?”

“Of course, until he stabbed us all in the back. Well, not all of us really. Just my dad and I”

“Why just your dad and you?”

“Well, my mum didn’t mind much really. She got the house in the divorce and the two moved in”

“Wait, I’m sorry, I must admit to being just the slightest bit confused?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t long before they got a baby with the ‘nicest eyes’—guess they didn’t go to waste after all”

“So your mum fell in love with the man down the street, left your dad, took the house in the divorce and had the man’s babies with the nice eyes?”

“Yes. He said I could drop by for lemonade anytime and for as long as I want”

“Well, as long as you get a lifetime’s supply of lemonade…”

“Yes I know, not that great a deal. Biscuit?”

“No, thank you. But I don’t understand, how did your mom–?”

“My mother was home a lot and my father…was not. That man, on the other hand, was.”

“Well that sounds like quite a bit of a story actually, would you mind going into just a little bit more detail?”

“Well that’s really all that was to it. No whirlwind romance, no clandestine meetings. He was the slightly mental neighbour with the nice eyes and she was the attention-starved, bored house-occupant. That story’s a bit played out, don’t you think? Practically every other child’s mother has left them for the nutty neighbour.”


“What, didn’t yours?”

“I think I might want that cookie after all—and no, not really.” What followed next was the handing over of buttery baked goods out of chipped, china plates.

“Well anyway, after that we moved in with my grandfather.”

“The one who was killed by a pair of dice?”

“Yes the red ones with the black dots”


Yours Truly,



6 thoughts on “The WWWA- PART TWO

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