Post-haste to Glenn Burnie

Post-haste to Glenn Burnie

Postby catch » Sat Oct 05, 2019 5:08 am

The Letter would arrive via Benedict. There would be a Request made of the garrulous raven; and there is no signature, no identification. There is a far and distant familiarity in the careful, blocky words, the splotches and messes.

Glenn Burnie,

I am told that you are planning to return to Myrken Wood.

I am told that you are on your way at this time.

I am told that you are Needed for something Very Important.

I have been asked to not Kill You.

I feel like this will be a Very Difficult Thing to accomplish. The longer I wait for it, the more time I have to think. I find that the longer I think, the angrier I get.

I become angry very easily these days.

The anger does not pass as easily as it used to. Once it filled me quickly, like a wind. It cast me like a leaf along the ground. When I grew too heavy, then the wind would pass and I would lay upon the ground.

I would lie Very Still, as She told me.

You have a lot of words, Glenn Burnie. Do you have any words for this? Would you have any words at all to stem this anger that I feel?"

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Re: Post-haste to Glenn Burnie

Postby Glenn » Mon Oct 07, 2019 12:55 am

There was a request to Benedict as well, two requests. Haste and return. He had questions, he would explain, but the answer to them would not affect his response, for these words were primal and he would answer them as such no matter the context.

I begin many of my sentences with I as well. Some claim this to be the sign of arrogance. I think it is instead an attempt at awareness, an attempt to constantly try to understand the world. I could do so with the stories of others, and in, fact, this is much of how our mutual friend learns, how her people learn. For humans, it does not work nearly as well. Our lives are short. Our documents are so easily destroyed. Our memories and stories are lost to time. Despite my best efforts, I am so often left with nothing but "I" to begin my sentences with.

I think it is much the same with you but for different reasons. You outlive even them. In the end, what else is there but you? What will be left but your own "I." Therefore, I am glad to see you have found it, even temporarily.

Is this not what we have been, in the story of the last many years? Just two eyes, staring out at the world, trying to affect it, trying to stem the tide, to stop the inevitable, but lost in bodies not of our making, wielding powers beyond our ability to control them.

Here we are then, eyes made Is once again.

I can hear your response miles away. You asked me if I had words to stop your anger and what I gave you was a desire to tear my eyes out instead. It struck me, your language. You struck me as well. It had more of an effect.

You could kill me, but what would it gain you? One less voice on the wind. Would it even gain you that or will I be with you still hundreds of years from now? Did your punch end the throb of me, the ghost? Revenge solves nothing. Lashing out only eliminates opportunities.

I believe that there is nothing after death for we humans. You die, you are dead. I have seen ample evidence of souls, but no evidence tha they do not die along with you. It is the spark of your life. That spark goes out. Perhaps it is harvested by greater powers. Perhaps it feeds gods, seasoned and prepared by a lifetime of worship. Perhaps we are culled for a slow trickle feast, one paltry human death at a time.

While you may have an eternity with the memory of me, you have scant few years left with the real thing. A blink of your eye. I was dragged underground. I saw my ideals twisted. I saw my love warped, my love for Myrken, my love for you, as much as anything else. Here I am, out the other side of that, years in exile, with nothing to do but think and be, years laying upon the ground, just like you, (I do it. You've seen it) struggling with my anger for myself, my anger for everything wrong with this world.

She needs me for something important. It is important for her people and mine. Even then, it is not the first thing I intended to do upon my arrival. Even then, it is not the Most important thing that we were to do.

The most important thing was helping you. For her sake. For your sake. For my sake and the world's.

The world has been unfair to all of us. So much of this was our own doing. So much of it was not. If you are to kill me, so be it. You will not do so before we, she and I, try to help you through this Moment in time. The world need not be as unfair as that.


Haste and return.
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