Victorian Breakup Letter

Dearest Elizabeth,

I would like to say that I always loved you, but I am finding more and more that this sentiment is a lie… I only loved the idea of you. For truth, I thought you to be the purest, fairest maiden in all of England. Yet to my great despair, I found that your purity is sullied by the filth of another man’s libidinous greed. And, like a streetside harlot, you pulled your petticoats wide above your head for a man half your station. I hope you are happy being his whore, for he has little in the ways of wealth and only has a small plot of land to call his own. Whether you stay with him or not, I hope that you are miserable and that God crushes your deceitful frame with his index finger and thumb and casts you into the eternally burning fires of Hell. Good day.

Charles Laroche


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Filed under Flash Fiction, Session XII

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