THE PENNANT BY JEFFREY LO
DUANE, 78 years old, speaking a letter.
DUANE:
I’m going to die soon.
I know that sounds morbid but given my current situation it’s not.
And by situatuation, I mean life.
Given my current life. It’s not sad that I’m going to die.
…
Now that’s sad.
But who’s to blame for that?
You.
That’s right.
You.
Each and every one of you receiving this letter.
If you are reading this letter it means one of two things.
One - you have contributed to the terrible state of my life.
Two – one of the people who contributed to my life being terrible is your friend who just handed you this letter to look at. Rethink your friendship. Now. Trust me. You’re welcome.
If you’re one of those first people, you are probably wondering why I am writing this letter.
You might think it’s because I am angry at you and I want you to know that.
No.
I couldn’t do that in a some mass written letter.
No.
You’d need a personalized letter.
A long letter.
An epic letter.
Stating what a piece of shit you were to me.
I don’t have time for that.
No.
What this letter is for is to tell you – useless people who were in my life but for whatever reason are likely in charge of my funeral – I want to be buried with my pennant.
That’s right.
The San Francisco Giants pennant from their first world series season in 2010.
Because it’s worth more to me and was better for my life than anything any of you did.
…
…
…
I guess this is a petty letter.
But fuck it.
I’m dead anyway.
Bye fuckers.
Love,
Duane.
Blackout.
END OF PLAY.