Prompt: Send a person you dislike somewhere and have them send you a post card.
Start With: The post card arrived…
The post card arrived in the mail today. I didn’t expect her to write anything to me. She was so far away, both mentally and physically. I figured I would be the last thing on her mind; I always was.
So when I noticed a postcard sitting surrounded by bills in my mailbox, I thought it strange. The card had six stamps on it—that’s how far away she was vacationing. Six stamps for one piece of card stock; ridiculous.
I turned the card over and rolled my eyes at all the scribbles on the back. She always had a tendency to ramble, even when she was writing. Without even reading it, I assumed she was writing to me to gloat. She was on vacation and I wasn’t. It was as simple as that. But no, that wasn’t the case. She was writing to me because she was having a miserable time.
Now she had my attention.
I sat down at the kitchen table with the post card in one hand and a cup of iced coffee in the other. I sipped my caffeine wondering why she would feel the need to complain to me. She was always trying to get ahead of me in life, always trying to be better. I would think she would have lied about her vacation just to make it seem as though she was having a better week than I was.
This place is terrible! Awful! Horrific!
Oh, aside from the rambling, did I mention that she was a total drama queen?
The view from my hotel room is a brick wall! A brick wall, can you believe that? Why on Earth would they offer with a room without a nice view? And that’s not even the worst part—there are bugs everywhere! You should have seen the spider I sent spiraling down the shower drain this morning. Then there were more spiders and other bugs all over the place. I didn’t get one wink of sleep last nice because I was so itchy. I’m praying I’m itchy because of fear of the bugs and not because some bugs bit me and gave me a disease.
I found myself grinning at the end of the paragraph. She should have done her research before booking the hotel. That was nobody’s fault but her own. Plus, I knew she was probably itchy out of fear. She always blew everything out of proportion.
The hotel doesn’t even accept my credit card. I had to pay with cash. I didn’t have enough so I had to write the rest of the bill out on a check. Now my bank account is broke. How am I going to get home? How am I going to be able to afford a plane ticket? I was going to come straight home, but now I can’t. I don’t know what I’m going to do.
I chuckled at her being stuck there. Again, if she had done her research the she would have been fine. Besides, she seemed to have enough money to buy a post card and six stamps at least.
This is entirely your fault! I can’t believe you suggested this place to me. You probably knew it was awful here. You owe me some money after this one!
And there it was: the reason she wrote to me. It wasn’t because she thought I would actually be interested in hearing about her vacation. It wasn’t because she was having a great time and wanted to rub it in my face. It was because she was blaming her life’s woes on me.
I ripped up the post card and tossed it in the trash. What else was new?