A Letter – Returned

Dear Elliot S. Jacobs,

Elliot, I’m sorry I hurt you to this extent. I’ve rarely seen you this angry, I…I’m not sure what to say about it. I would say I didn’t mean to hurt you, but I see now that I did, even unknowingly, some part of me must have wanted to otherwise, you’re right, I wouldn’t have picked that day.

I’m glad to hear you’re at least looking forward towards the start of classes, I’m sure you’ll do great at being a teacher, I know you always shared so much of what you knew with me whenever you thought I might listen.

Also, this is strange to have in a letter and its coming at such a bad time, but, mom’s sick. Really sick, and she always liked you and she’s angry at me for leaving. She said that even if I was living in sin at least I was happy, but…that’s another thing all together. She’s at the hospital, it’s thirty minutes from the high school, I hate to ask because of what I did but it would mean a lot to her if you could go see her from to time.

As for bridges burned, you’re right and I’m sorry, I could have handled all of it better but hindsight is 20/20, there isn’t anything to be done for it now and I know how you feel about apologies. I’m not sure what I could do to redeem myself as being someone you could be friends with, but it’s only been a week, I think we both need time.

Your friend regardless,

Emma James

 

Closure – A Letter (Fiction)

Dear Emma James,

It feels like I should be starting this with something like I still remember the day, or I’ll never forget when it happened, when we ended and I was alone again, but it’s only been a week so it’s not like much time has passed, even if each day has been a year and a day, and the week seems like it’s lasted centuries, it’s only been a week. A week since the call.

Who does that? Call to tell someone they’ve been with for five years, five years that day, our god damn anniversary, that she’s done? Who does that? That’s what I latched on to, October fifth, 2011, that’s when we actually said we were a couple, dating.

You knew, you knew how I felt about marriage, I didn’t see the point. I still don’t but if you felt we were living in sin you should have mentioned that, or maybe I didn’t understand you well enough, maybe you’re right and this is for the best. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, doesn’t mean I’m not angry.

Doesn’t mean you couldn’t have done a better job of ending it.

I get home, you’re gone, the things that were, for the most part, yours, were gone or packed and there was a note saying the movers would be over and that I should call you. You didn’t call me, I had to call you, to figure out what was happening. You’d met someone three months back, and you’d been seeing him, and this was my fault somehow? Somehow it was my fault you felt the need to do this, it was my fault my career hadn’t taken off and I was starting as a substitute English teaching in two months, it was my fault, all of it, everything that went wrong was my fault somehow. Yes, you top this all off with we can still be friends, a smile in your voice and it’s like you’re laughing at me.

You’re willing to throw away everything we’ve built, everything, without any kind of fight for it, on the day we built it, throwing it all away with a post it note a couple of boxes and a phone call, yet we can still be friends? Are you kidding me? How do you, how does that even compute? Where did you come up with that grand scheme? Cause it wasn’t reality, it sure as hell wasn’t with me in mind. No, I’m sorry miss, we can’t be friends, please lose my number. Now, now that I’m writing this, I was sad, devastated, for that week, but now after its all said and done, I’m just angry. I want my five years back, I want my cat back, but I don’t want you back. Not after this, you’ve not only burnt the bridge but you’ve destroyed all the historical records of it to, there is nothing left.

However, despite this, part of me still cares, and that part of me, that small kernel of love I bear for you still, wants to say I hope you can find that happiness, I hope you find it and I hope you don’t throw it away with a post it note and a phone call. I hope you fight for it and can smile again eventually. However, it won’t ever be with me, I can say that, regardless of what happens, the ship has sailed, we’re done and I want to say that with real feeling to make sure the closure is there, to make sure its clear.

We’re done.

I wish you well, truly I do, this is all I have time for. I have to go setup the lesson plan for my classes. Six months as a stint as an English teacher for the local high school, should be a learning experience certainly.

Sincerely,

Elliot S. Jacobs

Beautiful/Ugly

Yesterday gone, tomorrow not promised, see the world as it is rather than for what its not. See the shine, the glitter and the glow, and the rotten, the withered and the old, realize the bile, the bitter and the broken but rejoice in the shining, the golden, the gilded. See the beauty, the wonder in both, and find a point between that light, find a place that borders that night, and hold on to that now, that present place you make with everything you are, will all you have, for that might be truly all you get, for life is fleeting and life is fast but it’s ugly and beautiful and nothing so wondrous can ever truly last.

Chorus

I often reiterate my rending in rants, reading the reiteration in a chorus of crazed chants. Crazed and insane I begin my descent into truly the deranged maligning my own mind with millions of multitudes of reiterated regrets, the reiteration being read in this chorus of crazed chants, the chanting continues and I fall forever forward faster and faster freely flowing towards forgetting the ranting reiteration of the millions of multitudes of unforgotten regrets the rant receding back into the reiterated chorus of a thousand crazed chants. The chanting continues crashing into a crushing crescendo of a multitude of minds that hide meandering miserably inside my own mind with rending wretched remorse that returns me to the rant that awful reiteration of my own wretched nature that leads me back to reading the reiteration of my own rending in rants that simply returns to that chorus of crazed chants that marks the beginning of the cycle going from crazed to deranged the circular psychosis perfected in permanence, the rending repeating with each reiteration as the chorus of crazed chants continues to carry on, the crushing crescendo flowing forth faster and faster as I fall forever. I often reiterate my rending in rants, reading the reiteration in a chorus of crazed chants.

Soul of The World

There is a music, a kind of symphony that plays inside the mind.

This music crescendos from time to time and the notes at this point reach a true harmony.

This moment happens but rarely, and for some never at all, but this is the soul of the world, telling you that you have found where you belong.

Greg – the Good Guy Orc

This is Greg, Greg is a good guy that is really tall, really strong and green. Due to his odd face and sharp teeth most don’t think Greg is a good guy. However Greg is fine man and a farmer, and likes to raise his turnips in peace. However, Heroes tend to think Greg is like the other Orcs (Greg can admit that he isn’t actually a common kind of Orc but it is annoying) and often has to defend his own farm from heroes thinking he’s a raider. However he tends to dump them on their behind, or knock them out, then they wake up to a hot meal, an explanation and they tend to go their own ways.  One day however was quite different for Greg.

One day Greg, while watering his turnips (Greg does love turnips) heard a scream. Looking out past his farm he saw a young lady in rich gowns running, from a hero! Greg grumbled “Why does this happen around my farm?”

He looked up and saw the lady had tripped, and heard the hero talking of how he would save her and take her to be married! “Well, if she’s not wanting that, that just ain’t right.” Grumbling again

Greg goes back to his turnips before sighing and pick up his ax. Now, while it is a logging ax, it’s still an ax made for an orc, so Greg, for all he has a genial smile and nice demeanor suddenly looks fearsome as he walks down to the lady and the hero.

“Lad, I’ve chased you off my farm before.” The hero, being one of the delusional white knights that just have to have a villain simply attacks…and is promptly dumped on his behind by Greg “Git yerself gone lad, fore ya make me angry. Miss, there’s a house up the way there, you can rest and work out what you wants to be doing.”

Greg sighs and shakes his head “All I want is to be left alone on me own farm, is that too much to ask?” Sighing he turns to the girl, who apparently had fainted at Greg fierce appearance and sighs, hefting her over his shoulder like a sack of unwanted potatoes.

“Damn elves, oh look an orc, he must want to eat me!” He imitates a simpering tone before letting out a guffaw “Humans ain’t much better, but at least some of em are smart enough to not care.”Laughing he carries the young lady up the way safely, trying to not bump her. Sure he could have waited for her to try to save herself, but that wasn’t right, someone needs help ya help em, that’s what Greg thinks anyway.

The next day the lady, the Princess of the realm it seems, wakes up to a large breakfast, including some oversized eggs, a truly large bowl of oatmeal and some fruits. Looking around she thinks at first she is prisoner but the orc is nowhere to be seen. Then she hears a truly horrible singing coming from outside.

“Green and mean I work the land, strong and stout with ho in hand. I’m an orc but I’m ok, I’ll farm my land and say nay to the raid!”

This was a rather ridiculous song, and she couldn’t help but laugh. She looked around and noticed a pair of work pants and a wool shirt on a stool and she looked at her dress. “Well this is a sight isn’t it? Certainly can’t go around in something as nonsensical as a dress!” She thought to herself and laughed again before tying her hair back and working out how to dress herself for once. (Being a noble she tended to, as most nobles do, have complicated outfits, often requiring a rather silly amount of production to get into, or even out of, so this took a rather long time.)

Laughing she heads outside and looks at the orc, who smiles wide, which should be fearsome and would be, if not for the ridiculous straw hat and the large hoe in one hand. “Mornin’ lass! I be Greg, the owner of these ‘ear lands. Help yerself to some rest or whatever ye might be needin’ those heroing types won’t be botherin’ ya ‘ear lass. Ye just think whatever ye need to be thinkin bout through and tell ol’ Greg if ya need any help.”

This gets her to laugh, again. Old for an Orc could mean any number of things, specially if they didn’t go out on raids. Despite what people think Orcs are one of the long lived races, only living a little shorter of a life than an Elf, which is what she is. “I’m Yssa, from the neighboring forest,  someone tried to say my own father sold me out as a bride price, an I don’t believe them but I couldn’t wait for help to come. Then that brute caught up to me somehow an…” She takes a breath and smiles “Would you show me around your farm? Maybe I can help you around here while I work things out.”

Greg nodded and let out a friendly guffaw “Of-course Yssa, ain’t a problem at all! Lets start with the turnips eh? I do love my turnips, best in the land if I say so meself!”

With that Yssa smiled and Greg lead her over to look at his turnip patch, which was a sight to see, as was all his farm really.

After that she learned some of farming, and he learned some of some the bordering countries. (And that his large farm was considered a country of its own according to his neighbors, something he found odd to be sure!) Then they went and had dinner, before going to their rooms for sleep.

They didn’t know it yet but tomorrow would be a busy day. That is however, as they say, another story entirely.

To be a “Hero”

It’s the middle of the night, you’re out, walking. Trying to clear your head after a rather heated argument when you hear a woman cry for help. You look and you can see it’s coming from a little grove of trees, just off the path. The path you’re on isn’t the most well lit path in the first place, but that?

That’s far from any beaten path and pitch dark, as it is you can only see it due to the shadows cast from lights on the other side, which doesn’t help you much. Looking at your phone you see that you’re out of minutes and the battery is about dead, but the woman is screaming for help, loudly.So you rush off, towards that darkened path, shivering a bit in the chill of winter, you should have wore a heavier coat really.

Heading closer you start to notice something, after about three cries of “Help! Someone! Please Help!” there is a pause before it starts again, exactly the same, the tone, the volume, all of it the exact same. You slow your pace but it’s too late, you see them too late as they come of the little wooded area, one of them actually having a net and tossing it over you as you feel a small prick, a little pinch in your arm. Looking down you see what looks like a dart sticking from you before you suddenly become exhausted.

Looking up you see the silhouette of three men standing over you, with just enough light to make out a smile. “We got one boys, this one should sell for a pretty penny. Told you it’d work.”

Leaning down he grabs your hair to pull you up “They never can resist the chance to be a hero.”