Dearest Fluffy by Adam D. Rice

Author:Adam D. Rice
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pitmix Press
Published: 2019-03-01T00:00:00+00:00

PEANUTS

Dearest Fluffy,

I know something about someone, and I think I may soon come to regret it. I’m sending this letter to explain everything that I know so far to ensure that there’s a record—well, if it makes it home.... I’m sending this letter to ensure there’s a marginally better chance a record will exist to back up my side of this terrible tale.

Over the last week, I’ve been tailing a soldier who I believe is a rebel informant. This all started during a drilling session a few days back. I was standing there, doing my best to keep up with some of the new moves the officers are introducing. It’s step, step, arm thing, step, and reverse step. Or did I get that backwards? Remind me, and I’ll show you sometime if I can still remember it. Anyway, during drilling, I caught a whiff of salted peanuts. That’s when I began to get suspicious, because I don’t know many people who could’ve made it through several weeks of marching and drilling far from home without depleting their secret stash of peanuts.

Peanuts are a delicacy—a comfort food. They’re not the easiest treat to come by back home. That’s why my sense of smell was so heightened. It’s not an aroma I’m accustomed to encountering around the camp. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one to smell the peanuts, but no one else said anything. The next day, the smell of peanuts was back. At that point, I was determined to figure out who exactly was living high on the hog, so I could get the name of his supplier. I’m flush with Union greenbacks, Fluffy, and there’s a good chance they’ll be worthless sooner than we’d like, so I’m trying to transfer them into physical assets as fast as possible—purchasing peanuts, for example.

I spent several hours rooting around the camp, following the lingering scent trail of those salted peanuts. After more than one clash with angry soldiers who didn’t appreciate my interest in what their breath smelled like, I came up empty. In my defense, Fluffy, I always asked before I got close enough to examine them. However, I didn’t ask permission from the livestock. Other than an ox licking my head, everything checked out on that front.

Then, yesterday, when I was standing around, wondering if I should call off the search before it cost me any more campfire buddies, I saw the peanut eater. He was a man of middling height with dark hair. I’m telling you that, so you can go to the proper authorities if something should happen to me as I investigate. With one sly movement, I watched as he slid his hand into his jacket and snatched out a handful of nuts that he proceeded to pop into his mouth without even offering to share with the other men milling around him—hard-working men who occasionally deserved something better than our dull rations. I suppose I can’t be sure they were peanuts. I was standing a considerable

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