Head on the Table

Sarcasm, satire and cartoons

A Letter Between Friends

Written By: Sy - Aug• 16•11

A letter you say? Not a text, not an e-mail? No absolutely not.

Why, because there are still people who prefer the personal touch of a letter. They like the feel of the pen in their hand and the surface of the paper, the smell of the ink. They like the hands-on method of doing things as this letter aptly points out.

Dear Rita,

It’s been a while since we’ve talked and I thought you might have been wondering if I’ve been up to anything lately. I’ve actually been pretty inactive for months now, but the other night the juices started flowing and I just couldn’t help myself.

I went out to the local beach, it was after 11pm and the park was closed, but as you know this is always my favorite time to come here.

I was standing quietly within the tree line that bordered the sand when I felt a small turtle nudge up against my shoe. It then occurred to me that I had always wondered what was inside of a turtle’s shell. I picked the creature up and took it’s head between my thumb and forefinger and twisted until the head came off like a bottle cap. I then tried to look inside, but there was too much gunk and I couldn’t see clearly in the dim light, so I forced my little finger into the opening. It felt slimy and squishy and when I pushed in and out it made a sucking sound.

I let go of the shell and the turtle clung to my finger as if it still had a mouth, a little turtle mouth, suckling on me, but it didn’t for I could still see it’s head with it’s mouth on it laying on the ground where I had dropped it.

I pulled the body free with a tiny slurp and a pop and threw the remains out onto the sand.

Overhead, seagull gathered, coming to devour the small carcass. I found it quaintly amusing that the insides that my finger had just been inside of would soon be inside of other insides. I then thought how I knew nothing of a seagull’s insides either, but my train of thought was interrupted when I noticed, several yards to my left, a young couple who was taking a short-cut through the park and they had stopped by a tree to kiss.

By the way they were walking and talking, it was obvious that they were drunk. I felt my back pocket for the zip-lock bag. It was still there. I then took out my bayonet, you know, the one with long blade and serrated edge, and hid it behind my back.

“Stop, someone’s coming.” I heard the girl say to the man as I approached.

“What’s you’re problem, dude?” the man asked me, full of drunken bravado.

“Nothing.” I told him, holding out some dollar bills with a twenty on top, “I just found this money laying back up on the path and I wondered if you had dropped it.”

“Oh yeah, thanks.” the man said reaching for the bills.

Sometimes it works sometimes it doesn’t. This time it did. I put my souvenir in the plastic bag, I’ll show it to you the next time we get together.

Love, Me


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  1. Sy says:

    just what I was going for.

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