Moss 2: Gathering Flowers

Anya, this is me again. Kiana.

Maybe it’s silly introducing myself. It seems your other pen pal has paper or computer of his or her own.

Your letter was in a sealed box at the bottom of what is no longer a usable pool, along with a toy statuette of some sort. I suppose that means we are meant to keep writing.

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Your house is not my house, of that I am sure. My house is full of weeds, and there is no furniture to speak of.

I came into this house by the front door, the lock of which has long since been broken by one person or another. It was complete once, but time has taken its toll. I have managed to acquire a little money from mowing lawns, which I have used to buy drywall to fill in some of the holes in the walls. I have also straightened out some counters and pulled up some weeds.

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I would not mind if you were a ghost. I don’t think it matters very much. I don’t think your name matters much either, nor whether you ever knew me or my name. With no-one to talk to, names are not important, and since there are only two of us in this conversation I suppose they are somewhat arbitrary, given that most of the time I am sure who I am.

I think the house does need my help. I tried talking to it, and it said nothing. I mean, I didn’t expect it to say words, but nothing like your house happened.

I think that my house would not have called me if it weren’t sick, and I don’t think it can keep me. I don’t think it’s that kind of house, or if it is it is not well enough to do so.

I am glad that your house is listening. I think it would be glad to have you talk to it. In my letter, I will attempt to enclose some small purple flowers that grow near my house. I do not know what shape they will take for you, but I hope it is pleasing. If it works, perhaps I can send other things, in some way, shape or form.

Kiana

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