An angel of death came to me; he was here to give me a letter. The letter had a stench of death, I smiled nervously. The soldier who brought the message smelled as of one who has not bathed for a long time, a smell shows a journey. My glory hit the dirt of the ground, for that in which I shunned the most from my sight, had come upon me. I looked up panting loudly like a rabid dog. My mind did not know the next move.
I took the letter, ran out of my grandmothers yard to even the score with the moon. In some abnormal way the moon was responsible, and I yearned to kill it, I sought after it, and I ran and ran leaving a trail of tears. My legs gave out; I crawled for I was going to rid the moon of his blood, for he saw all, and did nothing. I wailed, “I hate you moon. I hate… you o moon!” I had gone foolish, everything that I called astute, intelligent, and uncomplaining has brought me to madness; for not even that could bring unto me silent waters. Cursed moon.
My hope was that this letter would ease me, more then any man could. For it is painless for a man to strike you with the side of his sword, then to convey a few sweet words. I was alone. I opened the letter and started to read.
Boy in every inner man lays an element called Love. It moves you, creates a desire to self sacrifice for the benefit of another. Love has the most focus, in the smile of a child. That’s why I think about you, always. I aint ever been afraid to die, even in time of battle, because your smile sits at the bosom of my heart even in death. Don’t cry, I know you are reading this because I couldn’t make it back home as promised. But I'll be with you, to guide and comfort you forever.
I sought for images in my soul, which could confirm the inner man that all was complete. Yet seeking, I did not find. I barely knew him, and could not place images from the pass to comfort me. I was alone. He had left me alone in this world. I see the present and the future is mine, the past is dead. This man called my father spoke of love, and fought for it, but the one he loved was less then nigh, and now unreachable.
My father was stupid. He was a man that put time, devotion toward the king, and for what? Did all his manners in his lifetime bring a greater work, a reward? His son is a bastard, and the king gives pity, damned be the king, I would spit on his face. I put him on the same level as a beast’s dung. For man desires either freedom or riches, man knows not what is fair or peace. I swear I will show them destruction, for the evil I havoc upon them will not be matched.