letters and hopes

a word can be defined by many, a sentence can divide many, and a letter can suck the heart out and make it bleed black on paper. but who can tell how far someone can go to seek out those hearts.

“Dear Huch, I know that you’ve been going through hell by having cancer but could you lend me a few hundred so I can get on my feet. I just know I could make a difference to my …………………….”

 Love these letters, the people who write these kinds of miserable pieces of s%$t letters asking for loans are the funniest kind. You can feel how desperate they are for a little green but unfortunately they can’t help get out of their own cluster of mixed/ jumbled life that leaches off others. But I’ve seen so many other one sided letters that ends with a heartfelt ending of lies that make me scream with laughter because of how unconvincing the letter is. I bet Huch wouldn’t even open this letter if he knew who it was from but unfortunately  it will never leave my own collection letters that vary from “ sorry I couldn’t come this year …….” to “  dad I couldn’t keep the baby but I’m about to turn back to becoming a born again Christian”.

“Richard, I finally finished all the divorce papers and that dog you loved is in a better place, you know that place where you saved that filthy dog to become a filthy dead dog, and I hope he’s licking all the peanut butter possible in the bug infested clouds up above. But I know I’m such a romantic so I also burned down every last picture of us. Also I know if you didn’t touch that hooker I might have not cared that you were cheating on me with the sitter. But since you’re in jail after ………..”

Man if I knew there was a cougar out there with that much passion I would pounce on her and lead on to the imagination. But poor Richard is probably trying to act tough while being pounced on by so many panther and lions. However when he leaves the cage, he’ll be leaving with experience of the wild and how there are just people that lay down on the floor of the food chain while others sit high on top of those blow them.

How could I not open these letters of woven cliché’s. By having a civil servant job I have health care and a pretty good condo. But this job is great since people are shipping bombs, made out of manure, around the country. I have to scan and if needed ( always needed for my own benefit) open mail or boxes so to secure the people of this nation freedom and liberties. However when no one is looking I have this impulse to keep a few letters or take a few cookies from grandma that she sent her grandson in D.C. So the official name that the public granted me is basically a mail man without the great legs or a**. ( Before you look down on me, please just understand it’s more of a cultural thing to call people that work in a mail office “mail men” even if their female) I sit in an office sorting mail and if their some mail that catches my eye I just take it while also taking the tax payers money.

What’s makes my heart beat twice as fast and twice as hard? It’s the thoughts of those letters just being little gold mines of emotions that give off vary reaction to the reader. It’s like roaming though the jungles of the minds own sorrow and depth of hate. Powerful letters such as; love, hate, sad, crazy, and rotten letters, these may be basic but basic is the purest form of emotion that anyone can comprehend. However I been missing something to get my sleeping heart back to it awaken state that thirst for the written word.

Until I came by a letter that made me second guess myself. White envelope with the addressed from the sender watered away from the journey to my office. It has 5 stamps covering the envelope and the only thing I can make out on the letters address is just a name, “Charlie Stuns”. With just holding it, my heart thumps and slowly my breath rises as such to a steam engine. Similar as being choked, blanking on you surrounding and for a few sounds before blacking there’s a sublime feeling that over comes any function of what’s right or wrong. So I tuck the letter under my shirt and go straight to restroom.

I tear out the letter out of the envelope and find what any middle age man wants when comparing his life to those that around, a final will/ testament. All typed with an old classical type writer that even Sheldon kopp would be proud of. And I must thanks god or any being powerful enough not to get the letter wet at all, praise god damn Jesus.

“Dear friend,

 I’m truly sorry that I can’t make it to your home that littered full of old skeletons. A home full of hate and smiteful remarks that I do not care to be in. yet I’ll be needing you be the speaker of my life since my own body has trapped me and the pain of my hands while typing this is killing my own resolve to even finish this. So I’ll keep it short, I might not be a person of faith but nonetheless I need to confess to what I have done.

I never did hate myself but I neither like myself enough to indulge in the fantasies of what bull s**t future I might have. Putting it simply the thought of becoming anything less then what I am today is what I thought would happened to me when I was younger. The years I spent listening to those teachers at school was tedious as becoming a blogger. Nevertheless I went to college and got my masters in teaching, ironically I became as stale and boring as if I was student myself when I started teaching. For all that I gained everything that society expected of me, which is if you didn’t mention the cult that I created. Where most of the members became tiny stocks of money pilling up. The name of the cult was the “third sage of blindness” and as the name suggest it was created with the idea of a leader with the wisdom of many teachings combined to one person. Thusly the ideals of my cult was to walk blindly in the arms of those that are granted the wisdom of the sage (god). And so it was little effort to push desperate people into joining, I would go to the local AAA, shelters, and bars. Despite not being a healer or a wise man, I just became an actor to those that needed a little direction while I got the profits. But soon it became troubling to proof that I was the sage, so I got a few actors that pretended to be broken mentally and physically. Moreover I also pretended to heal these “lost souls of misfortune” with hugs and fake mumble of a miracle. All maintained by with smile full of all the wisdom of the sage of blindness. Only one person ever tried to bring my cash cow down, Freddy.

Freddy became a muckraker, trying to take down my own hard work and ambition. He preach his ideas to my flock of dim witted ducks, the only words he spoke were ones of an innocent man just trying to loosen my hold around the necks of those that were desperate enough to believe in me. Freddy came back to the church of the “third sage of blindness” to yell and protest but he only got a few dim ducks out of church. Through him being the pest, he flew around me, Freddy is someone that makes the voices in my head scream for some end. A form of ending that make this fly vanish with in an instant of my two hands clapping together. I would then later sleep at night thinking of closing my two hands together to crush this pest and what made this dream into a nightmare was that once I killed the fly I would grow a grin bigger than my hands could cover. Then the dream became reality.

I waited in my office for the day’s offerings to come so I could count in peace in the solitude of my office. But since counting I been getting into the habit of crushing my fist together because of the race of my heart giving into the pleasures of greed. Unfortunately that day soon came to a close when Freddy showed up in my office. A short man in his mid-30 with and already ball patch on top of his round head. He stood with the little self of pride he had and all the while his hand shook. “I’ve have not seen though my life, a man as greedy and manipulative as you are mister Sheldon bloom.” And I sat in my chair while he muttered away with his fat lips smacking and he’s huffed up breathes he took. Nonetheless I sat their only grinning at his attempt to make me feel guilty.

With one big puff of air being sucked up Freddy yells “the world won’t allow such a monster who takes advantage of people to exist! But before you make your flock drink up the fruit punch, I just hope you get want you deserve!” that’s when he thumped to ground, not gasping for air or smacking his lips but just slumped on the ground with an Emergency fireman’s axe lodged into his head. Their stands a mother smiling over the dead body of an innocent man, she stares at me blankly and asked “protect those within the chosen group.” The first law I made in my religion, this was created in place so to that if the cops ever forced me in to hiding my flock wouldn’t tell them of my location or business I maintained in the church. But to bite me in the a*s right now and to add to insult Freddy did make me feel guilty for creating these blinded monsters. 

So I then set up the stage for the body to be taken out of the church by using one of the hollow statures that my flock prays to. However there’s always the details that get jumbled up together, I only implemented half the plan by putting the body in to the stature but I couldn’t get out the church. While I was taking care of the body, the mother who killed Freddy was bragging about how she became closer to sage than any other in the group by killing the man who then became the devil of our church. The devil was what everybody feared, because no one would want to oppose the person responsible for killing the devil. As a consequence, the fear became dedication among those in the church and if people ever came to me for guidance it was only for a resolution to stay faithful. Blindness of what’s right and wrong blurred further on and the people to whom are faithful to me and alone they went beside me blindly without the touch of regret or freedom.

I tried to put them on the right path but what I suggested to them were warped by their own thoughts of becoming more enlightened. The greed I once had dissipated into worry for leading these people to a false god.so I told the flock to depart from me and church but that only strengthen their resolve to be together.

What first started as a way to make money on poor suckers has become a cult of no reflection so to not look at how ugly it has become. Soon enough the fog lifted from my mind and I saw that there wasn’t any hope in my own choice so ironically I left it to god. I left the church and settled in a new home somewhere in the heart of a forest. With enough money from the church to have made 10 mansions made and plus extra. Yet in 1978 a group of 500 followers of the “third sage of blindness” cult all committed suicide after the cops found a dead body in one of the cults idols statures. The police began to investigate the church after finding Freddy and so the further the investigation went the further the cops came into finding me. As such, the followers didn’t want their sage to become a devil in the eyes of people all round the world so their ended it, cut off all connection to me by killing themselves.  The tool used for the group suicide was a burning building where I use to preach of the sage, now just a tomb stone made of ash.

I soon was labeled a criminal because of my past relationship to the church and as such I ran. Together with my money and my new name I rested with the herbivores of Canada. Nothing more waited me in the states. I’ve asked forgiveness from another cult that’s had more believers than I could ever have, however I still became a killer and a delusional fool that was blinded by greed.

Never thought once in leaving because of the fear of being worse than Hitler and maybe be called the devil. And I should be called and labeled by those people because I still see hopeless followers behind me just smiling. Never did expect this while being a kid but I knew that it wouldn’t be a happy ending. And I wish I could of kept teaching, even if it was endless work and pennies of paychecks. The end result of all my life is that I’ve ruined people’s lives and I buried myself in the ashes of the past. So please make the choice that I could never, either burn this letter or tell my story so maybe people might understand I am a sinner but also a human that became nothing but a slave to his greedy.

Good bye,

Also P.S you never know who’s beneath a smiling face.”

Final statement, last words of a dead man gives me goose bumps. Cult leader that forces other to feed his greed and then ends in humongous regret by leading average lost people to kill and commit suicide. Just the thought of how the regret of all those victims piled on the man back, yet everyone has their cross to carry but this guy willingly nailed himself to his own regret. Damn, even now my heart is still racing with my mind making up scenrios on whom this letter was implied for. With that ending remark about who’s really under a smiling face, I think my smile is creeping up on the sernors of who this letter was apposed to be too.

The address from where it came seems to have faded from the water and I can’t tell a thing from it. But there’s still the address and the name Sam smith. I guess I’ll try and focus in to who the hell Sam smith is.

 

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

 

One man’s god is another’s devil.

Just looking at Mr. Smith gives me enough of a feeling to smile. With his plain hair and white teeth. 

Author's Note

any thing would be great but even a word can be enough.