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A Drunken Cadence Towards The Notion Of Roots

"Your given name is 'Dear' and your family name is 'Truly'? She asked, studying the apparent drunk with eyes of inquiry. A bachelor on a drunken fragmentary-rant about his numerous Casanova-esque afternoons in the sun. "What of it? He replied, surprisingly attentive, as if declaring pride for his name. Then she went on;

"Your father must descend from a long line of passionate Mail Men, cut from the very first of them to log letters through the seasons...That, or your mother was a chronic pot smoker who happened to have suffered brain damage on several occasions, one of which was your naming ceremony...or you just happened to have such luck. Maybe a combination of all three suggestions of macabre, worst things have happened, and even worse could happen, Your name could be "Lilly" by the looks of you "Lily" would be antonymous. No matter, this is the state of things, you go by this name and I must say, you wear it a mint post stamp resting on a freshly licked envelope, who's contents include aesthetic penmanship of stellar words, on a letter written by some fine writer"

His eyes wondered, as did his mind, unsure of what she had said, he could only nod and smile the way rude people do when they don't want to be rude. Then he took a drink, reassuring himself that all was well. Sober or drunk, all could be wrong except one simple yet haunting fact; His name was Dear Truly and nothing could change that, not a beautiful woman in a pink sundress, or copious sums of alcohol.

Story by:

Stanley Asiegbulem

21 November 2012

Stanley Asiegbulem's web: