#its fine though its in the ps2 game spirit to be a bit illegible

[lucky-draws]

companion piece/"reply" to this post: x - transcript under the cut:

Maria, Thanks for your letter. I'm sorry it took me so long to reply. I don't know why it did - it's not as if I were busy. I was touched by what you said. But I'm not sure what I can give you. And - I think you may have got things a little twisted. About how you got here, I mean. I just can't shake the feeling that I brought you into being. All that time in the hospital I spent wishing, wishing for some company, wishing I wasn't so ugly, wishing things were different - it's like the town took all of that energy and made something twisted out of it. It seems like the kind of thing this damned town would do, anyway. You asked me why I'm always at the lake. Don't you know? That's what ghosts do, isn't it? They end up staying in the places they were happiest. I loved this place in life. I still do. It's so peaceful. Even though the whole town is quiet now, I think the lake has its own kind of quiet. I don't feel scared of the silence here. Oh, I guess you'll tell me I'm not a ghost. You told me all those things I hardly understand - about Ernest and books and spells and little vials of white liquid and James, my James, out on the lake - and, well, in any case, it is true that when I pinch myself, my flesh seems solid enough. But this isn't living. I don't feel like I've been brought back to life. I'm not spinning at all - I'm a stopped clock. It's funny - you said you weren't much of a letter writer, but then you went and wrote all that stuff about music box dolls and parallel lines. Well, I sort of suprised myself with how much I wrote to James. I guess love and pain and loneliness and all those types of things make writers of us all. But I'm nobody's doll, or puppet, or clock. I'm just a living ghost. I loved James, and I still do, in a way that maybe only ghosts can. There's no use now in hatred or blame or regret. I wonder where he is. The town took his life in exchange for mine, you said - it makes sense, but I don't really know what to believe anymore or how this town works. Sometimes I have half a mind to go searching for him. But I don't want to leave the lake. And you - I'm sorry, I just don't know what to think about you. If I'm truthful, you scare me. And I know I shouldn't say things like, because I know how it is to feel like a monster, after all. But I spend all day looking at my distorted reflection in the lake - you'll understand, maybe, why I don't much feel like going to see it at the bar, too. Besides, I'm not sure someone as pathetic as me could make you whole again. I'm sorry, I guess I'm always letting people down. Write me again, though - if you want. It is nice to hear from someone. I'll always reply. Take care. Mary