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Dear Mr. Ant Tenna,
You wanted a written contract, so here it is. You don’t even have eyes, can you even see this thing? Whatever, here’s the deal. I know all the ins and outs of this village. The passageways, hidden doors, you name it. I’ve been living here my whole life. Humans don’t always get out as much as you’d think. But I can show you all of it, we could make it big. All you have to do is let me in on your monster magic. How about it?
Consider it an agreement between newfound business partners.
Sincerely,
Spamton G. Spamton
—
Dear Tenna,
The parchment guy at the market tried to scam me, so I nabbed his entire stock while you were chatting with him. Now I can write all the random crap I want. You’re giving me a judgemental look right now, but you’re lucky to still be standing. I could’ve ran away screaming at the top of my lungs when I first saw you. Yeah, I know you were just munching on leaves. But a bug monster like you towering over humans would’ve been shot in the head by an arrow by now. Where do monsters even find clothes with six arm sleeves that big?
We grabbed some drinks today. I led you through some of my signature secret hideaways and you showed me some more of your bug magic after. We sat under the old oak at the edge of the hill overlooking the village. I watched as a few ants emerged out of thin air into your outstretched hand. They crawled across your palm, antennas wriggling as they explored their surroundings. It’s not much, you admitted then. You wished your summons could be flashier, like stars or something. I don’t really mind. Ants are practical. They’re small and scrappy, and smart to boot. That’s all you need in life.
I tried to summon something like yours, but all I could muster were some weird-looking ovals. You laughed then, saying with my narcissism I could be summoning miniature versions of my own big head. I should've smacked you harder for that, jackass.
Not sure how long our agreement’ll last, but you’re a pretty persistent fella. We’ll see how this goes.
Your pal,
Spamton G. Spamton
—
Dear Ant,
How long have we known each other?
I don’t really keep track of time. My magic’s improving though. Still not good enough for real attacks, but I can do a small bit of healing here and there if someone needs help. You’re not really one for attacks either. All smoke and mirrors, but at least the village kids like watching the flashy displays you put on. You’ve got to stop smiling at me like that at the end of your shows though. I’ve got an entire village’s mail to deliver. I’ll give you a pat on the head when I swing by after. Even now, that other night still plays clearly in my head.
It started with those markings on your back.
“Say, I’ve been wondering.” I pointed behind you. "What does TV stand for?"
"TV?" You turned to try getting a good look at the back of your abdomen, but ended up spinning around and around like a dog until you fell smack on the ground. I couldn't hold back my snicker, which erupted into laughter at the annoyed look you gave me. "I don't know," you huffed. "Maybe it'll stand for something FAMOUS one day. Yeah, maybe one day people will see something neat on their travels and call it...call it...TV-TASTIC!!"
Moonlight reflected off of your awestruck smile. My breath hitched, and I heaved a sigh. "Sure, buddy. And people are gonna start calling me a big shot."
"You never know." You shrugged and flopped down on the grass beside our oak tree. I lay down beside you, letting your arms drag me closer and wrap around my torso. Our chests rose and fell in tandem. Above us, the stars stretched far into the pure black sky. They seemed to be shining brighter than ever.
“Spam? You’ll stay with me, right?” My fingers traced over the smooth plates lining your drooping antennas, before reaching up to stroke the fur on the side of your face. You preened under my touch, a fang peeking out from your little grin. I nuzzled against your nose, pressing a kiss to it and matching your soft smile.
“Of course I will, Tens. We’ll make it big together someday.”
I don’t know if I’ll send this letter out. Probably not.
Love,
Forever yours,
Yours truly,
Spamton G. Spamton
—
Dearest Bug,
They’re asking me to pick sides. Saying I’ve been hanging around your kind too often. I can’t even address you properly in this letter in case they see this. The villagers are collecting their weapons, taking up arms. They’re pushing all the monsters out. There’s been rumors of a war.
But you’re not a fighter. You give lost kids piggyback rides through the craggly rocks in the mountains. You tie flowers to your nose because you love the smell of spring. I’ve set up wards around our room to buy time, but they won’t hold forever. Heaven, you only ever wanted to entertain.
Elsewhere, we could both be humans. Or we could both be monsters. We could be putting on a show, or opening a flower shop, or starting a bakery. We could be committing crimes and manipulating the masses for all I care. It wouldn’t matter even if the entire world had it out for me. Please, come back. Just for one more night. One final show.
Your concerned mailman,
Spamton G. Spamton
—
Tens,
It's dawn. I can hear drums playing in the distance. They're preparing. The humans will be here soon. You're still curled up against me, your arms pulled tight around my waist. Your nose is buried in my hair, your breaths slow. One of your antennas lazily brushes against my cheek. As if this were any other peaceful morning. I don't want to let go. But I need to get ready. You need to go join your troops. When we're on opposite sides of the battlefield, I know what to do. You've told me again and again why it has to be done. Humans don’t live very long. Monsters are resilient. Only I can do this. I have to stay strong. You said it'll all be over soon. You said it's going to be ok. We’ll be together again. But I don't know if I can do this. I don't like this plan anymore.
Spam
—
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I couldn't do it in one hit. I could've. I should've. I'm sorry. It wasn't enough. My soul. That look on your face. Oh Heaven, the sounds. Cracking armor. Metal on chitin over and over and over. Crunching. Plunging into soft thorax. Warm flesh. Cleaved red by blade. My fingers dripping. Your severed arms limp on the ground. Claws still twitching. I'm so sorry. I watched you fall. I couldn't stay. Why were you still smiling?
I ran.
I always run away.
—
Forgive me.
—
It hurts.
—
Who’s there?
—
Dear TV,
It’s been decades since the barrier was put up. I don’t know if you made it there. I didn’t stay long enough to find out. I don’t even know if you’re even getting these letters, I’ve been writing so much they must’ve coated the bottom of whatever that hole at the top of Mount Ebott leads. You never know, someone might be reading this right now. But you’re right. Everything will be ok now.
I found something. Someone.
I can hear the whispers in the dark. I can see everything so clearly when I close my eyes. The PROPHECY. I need to break FREE.
My magic’s gone. All human magic’s disappeared. But I don’t need it. I have a benefactor. He said it’s going to cost me. That I’ll be split, broken beyond recognition, scattered across space and time. I don’t care. I DON’T CARE! In just one of those paths, I’ll find HEAVEN. I’ll find SALVATION. I’ll find…You.
My hands tremble when I hold my quill. It’s getting harder to see the words I write. It hurts to get out of bed. I can’t climb up to Mount Ebott to deliver these letters anymore. But don’t you worry, Tens. Even after I’m gone, I know this in my soul. We made a deal, and I can promise you:
This won’t be my final letter.
Signed,
Spamton G. Spamton
—
“Dear [CRT],”
Spamton’s head popped out of a heap of garbage, his postal cap falling over his eyes. He readjusted it with a grumble and fiddled with the mailbox flag on the side. Behind him, a torrent of trash tumbled down from the roaring waterfall. Readjusting his cracked glasses and waving his arms to draw the other’s attention, he called out, “Have you [Lost and Found] anything yet?”
“Hmm? SPAMMY! There you are!” Tenna limped over, leaning down for Spamton to wiggle out of the garbage and crawl onto his shoulder. He bent his head down to nuzzle Spamton’s nose with his own, and the bottom of his cracked television screen stretched into a bright smile. “Well, I found YOU! And…some old letters?”
Shaking off the water as best he could with his one hand, he passed the soaked pages to Spamton. The mailman pressed them close to his glasses and squinted at the smeared ink, trying to make out any words. Something about bugs and salvation. He shrugged and tossed the letters over his shoulder, letting them land in the water with a resounding splash. “Nothing [Important!].”
Spamton noticed the other man’s antennas start to droop, and patted the plastic casing on the side of Tenna’s head. “Aw, cheer up [10/10!] You found me at least, right?”
Tucking Spamton safely in his arm, Tenna unceremoniously flopped onto the discarded mattress next to an especially large pile of trash with a sigh. Together, they stared up at the artificial lights lining the ceiling of the Underground, watching them glimmer like stars. Reaching up, Tenna stared at the tarnished gold ring around his finger and broke the silence.
“Spammy? You’ll stay by my side, right?”
A creeping sense of familiarity went down Spamton’s spine for a split second, but he shook it off with a scoff. He raised his hand, placing it beside Tenna’s so that his own rusted ring glinted beside his. “What sort of [Query] is that? I promised you.”
Spamton hopped up and settled himself atop Tenna’s chest, burrowing his face into the collar of Tenna’s worn vest. He felt Tenna’s arm wrapping around his shoulders. It wasn’t much, and the waterfall kept splashing his shivering figure. But Tenna’s hand was warm, and the inner mechanisms in his chest whirred with a comforting hum that made his eyes grow heavy with drowsiness. He yawned.
"Don’t worry [Ant]...we'll be [BIG SHOTS] one day." Spamton closed his eyes and nestled close to Tenna, his voice a soft murmur.
“Forever yours,
Spamton G. Tenna”