Permanent leave

oh my gosh i just realizedthat it all didnt paste !
so here's the rest....

It was another delivery man, the usual bearer of bad news. He handed her a brown package, wrapped with a gold ribbon. She quickly signed the clipboard he had shoved in her face and shuffled back the kitchen table that held so many horrible memories for the anorexic woman. She slumped down into her chair and ripped away the rough cardboard flaps. Inside was a suitcase and a letter. She plopped the suitcase onto the table and slowl unlatched the lid. As the suitcase opened, a ray of green light seemed to shine out of the case. Elaine's heart stopped. Laying at the bottom were stacks, all bundled neatly, straight as a pin, and neatly aligned, were rolls and rolls of twenty dollar bills. Elaine jumped from her chair and began to race arounf the room like a mad woman. She ran out into the street and started to dance. She twirled and spun, shouting "I'm rich! I'm rich'.' She skipped from sidewalk to sidewalk, glided from intersection to intersection, and weaved her way around the honking cars and waving fists. For the first time in a long time, Elain felt, free, careless, invigorated, so careless in fact that she payed no mind to what she was doing, and in the blink of an eye, Elaine's body was spraled across the now red windsheild of a Toyota Corolla.
This marked the end of her Elaine's tragic life. her battles with anorexia and depression only made her son, Bill Jr., that much stronger. He of course inherited all of the money, and also the letter that came along with it. You see, Elaine was so caught up in the joy of her new and mysteriously found wealth, that she neglected to open the letter, another letter in a starch white envelope with the return address to iraq, signed Bill Johnson.
It went a little something like this....