Attention B&A: Writers Challenge #2!?

This is from my latest book, 'A Circling of Vultures', edited for this challenge.

Dear Paul,

I am dead or missing. Otherwise you would not be reading this.

The notes attached are taken from my case files and are in the words of the men involved. Their own stories, unexpurgated and as gritty as only soldiers can make them. Each told his tale in his own way.

There are heroes here, people of courage and determination, but there are also fools, cowards, opportunists and downright villains. Such is ever the way of men...and of course, women.

Parts of the trial were held in Camera due to the secret nature of the operation to which it pertained. What records there are were buried deep in the archives of the Ministry of Defence, the Home Office and the Office of the Director of Public Prosecutions.

I left this manuscript with the instructions that you will now follow. Am I being melodramatic? Maybe, but that you are reading this can only mean one thing. Someone wanted me silenced.

I am sure that the threat against my person is real. I am not brave but I do believe the power of justice should rise above all else; including my fear. Not only justice done but justice seen to be done. In our country we tend to have too much law and not enough real justice. In the past perhaps I have been complicit in this but this one case hit a nerve.

So I made a promise to the people concerned that one day their story would be told and they trusted me to tell it simply and purely.

The truth is sometimes a quality unrecognised as it comes in many guises but it does have a habit, irritatingly for some, of unmasking itself. Whether it is believed is another matter. You must make up your own mind. However you must also make sure it gets into the public domain. But beware, Paul, your life could be as threatened as mine. Trust no one, least of all the government.

Ann FitzPatrick. Barrister, Lincolns Inn.

EYES ONLY.

Smith, C Branch, MI5. Read and Destroy.

Notes from the Dead, That’s what it said,

On the front of the box that I found,

A foot long in length, and with all my strength,

I pulled it out of the ground

On op’ning it up, and peering inside,

I saw page after page after page,

Spidery writing, on parchment that was

Coloured entirely yellow with age,

I picked up the paper, and froze to the spot,

As I read the Notes from the Dead,

How could it be? Addressed to me!

How could it say what it said?

In shock and horror absolute,

My heart slowed and then stopped,

And the paper I was holding,

Flew back into the box,

As I collapsed, time elapsed,

The box had done its trade,

I had died – was trapped inside,

Another note was made.

lol, that was random. This whole thing is a good idea ^_~

My Dearest Annabelle,

My life or, if I may, existence has been rather unkind without you with me.

The past few months, I have been missing you terribly. Of course I missed you quite an awful lot before. An excruciating lot really. But that was different. I was expecting my longing for you to fade, the hole in my chest to shrink.

Now, two years later, I know these emotions will never subside; it has been two years and still, the pain is here fresh and exploiting.

And so, my Belle, I have decided to write you. I can only hope that you will receive this letter.

This world I’m in is dark, but it is just like Earth was. Only there are much more tragedies here. Every day is a tragedy. Every day we each live through different scenarios, our biggest fears; everyday Belle, you lay in my arms, dying.

I don’t want to talk about death though. For I have lived the day of my death far too many times to count.

Instead, I want to comfort you with warmth as if I was right there with you. I want to whisper in your ear all the things I remember.

I remember your hair. It rolled from your head like the waves of a sea; so painfully beautiful. I remember the day you laid on my chest, and your chocolate hair fanned out. We didn’t speak once and we didn’t have too. I love that about us, Belle. We liked the pin drop silence; we didn’t fear the unknown. We were, in so many words, infinite.

I remember your eyes; big and blue. A perfect reflection of the perfection, I called them. You always laughed at that, “That rhymes.” You would say. I never knew why you found rhyming funny and I guess I never will.

We matched that way you know; you having blue eyes and me having brown. You were the above and I was the below. You were the sky and I was the land. I suppose it is still that way now, isn’t it, darling?

I remember your lips; soft and pink and wonderful. Do you remember the first time we kissed? It was behind our High School-where we met. I was nervous. My stomach had that feeling…Yes, butterflies. I got those a lot when I was near you. As our lips brushed, I remember thinking it was so perfect, so...remarkable. I still do think that, Belle, do you?

I remember a lot of things, Belle. I remember how much I loved you. I remember your voice, your laugh, the look you got when you were frustrated. It was so cute; your eyebrows furrowed and you bit your bottom lip. I remember telling you that you were sexy when you gave me that look, with your brown hair all free and tousled. You had hit me, but you hadn’t been able to suppress the rush of giggles that corrupted from your mouth.

I need to go now, Darling, but I need you to remember something:

I remember and I love you.

Sincerely,

your love, (hopefully) Jared Green.

That letter arrived this morning in a small, silver box, and I still don’t know how this was even possible. I run my fingers over the clean page in astonishment. I taste longing and desire and love and every emotion jumbled up into the salty tears that run down my cheeks.

I let the page slip from my fingers as I look up at the white, kitchen ceiling; at him. My voice, when it comes, is loud and sure. “I remember, Jared.” I say, my desire for him clawing wildly at my chest. “And I love you. Always.”

The wind blew my hair across my face as I rocked back in forth in my chair. I hugged my knees tighter to my chest, and clutched the letter as if it were my life. In a way, it was. I stopped rocking and put my feet on the porch floor. The letter was crinkled and stained from my tears. I took a deep breath and wiped my eyes, before folding the letter and tucking it into a white envelope. A drop of water fell onto the letter. I looked up, expecting rain, but there wasn't a cloud in the blue sky. I felt my cheek and realized I was crying again. A car door slammed. There were hurried footsteps on the gravel, quickly turning into a jug, then a run, then sprinting up the steps. Nathan dropped to his knees in front of me and lifted my chin. “What happened?” He asked, his voice edged with furry. Nathan would kill a man if he touched me.Today was the one time I could remember when I was crying and there was no one he could hurt because of it. I shook my head and wiped a tear from my cheek, doing my best to smile. “Nothing,” I muttered, my voice cracking. I licked the seal on the envelope and closed it carefully, before giving it to Nathan. “Here. Post this for me.” I whispered feebly. He nodded and stood up, hesitating for a minute before he kissed me on the top of my head and sprinted back to his car, before driving away.

Challenge #1

Notes from the Dead

I hate moving, because it involves organizing, and sorting and packing. I hate boxes, and I hate hate hate dusty, stinky garages and their stupid storage spaces that hold boxes full of untouched junk for years. The current box I was sorting through was filled with browned black and white pictures of people I didn’t even know. I mean where these things come from! There were a couple old trinkets. A pocket watch, and small wooden music box. I set them both aside. I wonder how much I could get for them. I’d have to look it up. There was a stack of yellowed letters at the bottom, tied together with brown string. I pulled the stack from the box, and as the dust cloud rose to meet my face, I saw a piece of paper come loose and flutter to the floor. I sneezed, and huffed in annoyance. I picked it up the paper, and frowned at the flowing script, a name smudged by stains that look hauntingly like tears, on the front. Curiosity got the better of me, and I stopped my hurried cleaning frenzy for just a moment, and unfolded the letter as carefully as possible.

To my dearest Millie:

I’ve always wanted to know, since I was a little boy, how I was going to die. Is it not everyone’s wish however to know their own future, their own fate?

I always thought that dying peacefully in my sleep at a wizened old age of one-hundred, would be the best way to go. Now, as I leave for the Great War, I reconsider this thought. Maybe to die with honor and glory, to ‘go out with a bang!’ would be the best way. Maybe Achilles had it right, that legacy was everything. I have to fight for not only me, but for my little girl, for you Millie. And if I die, doing such a thing, then that’s alright.

Sometimes, it’s difficult to wrap the idea of death around my head, and the fact that someday I will simply not exist. Do you think two-hundred years from now, my great -grandchildren will know my name? Will they tell their children my name, or will I simply be forgotten from history, as if I never existed. Do you think these children will feel sad that they never knew me in their life?

I can hear you right now, as if you were right beside me Millie, your eyes fiery, screaming what a fool I am. I know you’ll tell them Millie, I know you’ll tell our daughter all about me. And I know she’ll tell her children.

It’s a strange feeling to be writing a letter for someone to read, in case you die. There’s so much to say, but at the same time, I feel not much to say at all. Because, if I didn’t tell you while I was alive, why should it mean anything now?

There is only one reason for this letter then Millie, and it’s just to tell you one thing. I love you, and I’m sorry I won’t be there to see our little girl become the beautiful woman she’s meant to be, just like her mother.

I love you, with all my heart, and all my soul. Live life fearlessly and passionately, just the way you do.

I love you, so much.

Walter

It was a nice letter, I thought. I wondered for a moment if I was related to Walter and Millie, if he might be my great-great-grandfather, and she my great-great-grandmother. I shrugged slightly then, already pushing the swirling emotions away of my recent loss. I put the letter with the rest of the bundle. The dead were the dead, meant to be forgotten with time.

I sighed, back to packing, then.

1. Bar 9 - Piano Tune (no lyrics but the vibe really suits the aura of my character) 2. probably not. 3. extreme jealousy 4. their is no character to decide his only true dream is to be a gangster. (My character is in seclusion for the time being) 5. Excorcised a demon 6. Weak in a drained tone

Hm... I think I'll give it a try!

Don't expect anything great, though. As much as I'd love to consider myself a good writer, I know I'm not anywhere near comparable to most the other writers on this site.

I think I'll try Challenge #2. Yes...

I sealed the envelope and gave it to Nathan to post. I could only hope that it would arrive at its destination in time.

Nathan walked quickly to the door, pausing only for a moment to look back at me once more before disappearing into the wintry night that lay beyond. There were so many things to say to each other, but time did not allow us this luxury.

I moved towards the window, peering around the curtain so that I could watch him drop the one thing that could protect us into the mailbox. I watched anxiously as he crossed the street, panicking as he suddenly stopped. He looked wildly around, up and down the street, yelling something I couldn’t make out.

It all happened very fast.

I watched in horror as a black sedan barreled down the street towards Nathan – its tires squealing as it skidded on the icy pavement. I heard the sickening crunch as the car slammed into Nathan and rolled over his broken body.

Tears streamed down my face and my heart thumped loudly in my chest. The strange wailing scream that filled my head frightened me until I realized it was coming from me.

My mind raced as I wrestled with my desire to help Nathan and my fear of what may be waiting for me outside. If I could get the envelope, there may still be a chance to save him!

The back door of the sedan opened slowly. An elegant looking woman dressed in a white dress emerged from the car, her face a mask of serenity as she surveyed the gruesome scene. She stepped through the blood that pooled around Nathan’s head and crouched next to him. She tossed her raven curls over her shoulder and reached into his jacket.

She searched his pockets and carefully removed the envelope that I’d given to Nathan just minutes before. She ripped the envelope open and shook the object into her open palm. A sadistic smile contorted her features as her fingers closed tightly around the medallion.

I froze as she lifted her head and looked towards the window where I stood. Her eyes were milky white orbs and they met my terrified gaze. Her lips turned into a snarl stretching over a row of jagged, razor sharp teeth. I instinctively took a step back, my hand grasping at my throat for the medallion that was now in her possession.

They’ve found me!

I clutched the note to my chest wishing it weren't true. Silent tears ran down my cheeks as i read it over and over my heart clenching with each words. Tears fell on the page mixing with the ink. It felt like a dream. It couldnt be true. Like alice in wonderland . . . all a dream it was all a dream

Dear mrs. Berlin,

we are sorry to imform you, your husband John Berlin was killed during the war. He was shot, by the time we got to him he was gone. We are terribly sorry for your loss.

The u.s. army

John. Oh john. The time we spent together, the days we laughed, the days we cried, i remember the first time we kissed under a moonless sky a can of coke in one hand. And the time i met your parents. Your mother was so kind and your father reminded me of my own, of how my father used to be. I loved you john, you and your family. The day you proposed to me, well that was the happiest day of my life. We could travel together just like we always talked about.

But it wont happen now will it? I sat there in the old rocking chair thinking over the years i spent with John. Days filled with love and happiness a few grey spots hear and there, but we worked it out we always did, together.

Together. . .

Marie made a split desition then, her mind clouded and delutioned with the loss of her lover she searched for the gun John always kept in his drawer. It was loaded. She pointed the gun to her head and pulled the trigger smiling slightly as she thought of being re-united with her lover.

A small curly haired dimpled face boy stood at the door, staring at the dead body on the floor.

He had the same golden hair as his mother and the same grey eyes that sparkled just like his dads.

How are you supposed to tell a little boy that his fether was dead and his mother had just killed herself to join him?

The first Dead rose:

I am dead because of booze

I drank too much in my life

Until my liver is totally f--ked up

The second Dead rose:

I was ruled by my dick

I f--ked too many sluts

Until AIDS fell on my prick

The third Dead rose:

It's fun to live, you know

I wasn't serious at all

Until my creditor asked me to pay back a million