Chris Doty-Dunn
Dear Malcolm,
Please find enclosed your antique pocket watch—your grandfather's, as I recall?—returned in working order and no longer silent.
As I suspected, moon dust had caked the inside, gumming up the mechanism like plaque around a heart. An interminable problem when using a watch like this up here, where dust is so ubiquitous.
As a watchmaker, I suggest keeping your heirloom sealed in the hermetic case provided. But as a grandfather...
Perhaps with both clocks and hearts, there's no reason to have them if you don't intend to use them.
Yours in ticks and beats,
Jonathan Montgomery
Armstrong Horology
—Chris Doty-Dunn
I know you love me, even though you can't say it.
The signs were always there: the way you looked at me, the tension in your voice when we spoke.
And I love you. Have since the first moment I saw you, when I knew we had to be together.
Maybe I tried too hard.
Maybe you shouldn't have played hard to get.
Your face is serene as I crawl into bed next to you, savoring what's left of your warmth.
I put the gun in my mouth. It's still warm, too.
At least now we'll be together.
Forever.
—Chris Doty-Dunn