Dear Rosita

My humble beginnings bear no resemblance to the life I lead today. My parents had naught but two ha’pennies to rub together and we lived in one of those prefab houses they built after the war.

I excelled at school, passed my eleven plus, went to grammar school eventually I went on to university; this was before tuition fees. I started out with mathematics; found I had a head for business so graduated with a first in business and economics before gaining a masters in management. I worked my way through the corporation to the position you find me in today.

Sure I have a few grey hairs and wrinkles but that’s nothing that Botox and hair dye won’t fix, let’s face it I have more than enough money to pay for all the plastic surgery I will ever need.

However, I won’t need any. I won’t be here. Despite the houses, cars and all the money I could ever wish for I have a void in my soul that this can’t fill.

I leave this for you Rosita; you are the only person that will bother to look for me (even if it is only to collect your wages.)

The End

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