“No, no, you’re right, it’s
spelt funny.”
It felt like Mtthew said
this ten times a day.
“I’m missing it. The first letter.
No not the M, the first letter in order, the one before B.”
Mtthew wasn’t missing the A
in his name, his parents weren’t stupid. He was missing the A from his life.
It disappeared one day and
left him in this mess. He couldn’t say it, he couldn’t write it and he couldn’t
use it. He even had trouble thinking it, he knew it was something he should
know but couldn’t nail it down, like when you can’t remember someone’s name,
you know there is a hole in your knowledge but you don’t know how big.
His A had left when he had
remarked that A was almost never a silent letter and maybe it should take its
turn. So his A did just that.
Without an A he did not and
could not feel Alive, he had no Air, he enjoyed no Affection. He was About
nothing, And had nothing to Add.
Worst of all, Mtthew Hrrison
sounded like a Cockney when he said his name, as his Hs had also become silent
in solidarity.
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