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Jadugarr -> RE: Short Stories (6/30/2010 15:24:37)
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Some Creepy Chap Writes a Letter
To whomever it may concern,
I’m fairly certain that the information disclosed within this letter shall spark some of your interest; however, I want to assure you that I am not simply a harlequin summoned to amuse you with petty gags. The knowledge I posses has been devouring me from the inside for quite some time.
How very unusual- so much information I have to tell you, yet I have no idea as to where I shall begin; so what use am I, a man without words? If change is so constant, why does it not affect myself? I stay so damn invisible.
Yes, that is what pushed me into this state of many laments; myself in the path of the sun’s illumination, I cast a shadow. This should be proof enough of my existence; yet, if this letter never makes it’s way to you, who will ever know? No- this is not about me. This is about my shadow, and how it led me to take the life of a woman.
There I stood, cradled in the warmth of the sun, staring down at the silhouette upon pavement in which my shadow was plastered. Between thumb and forefinger twirled a plastic-wrapped candy-cane with twisted colors of rose and jade. My sweet little treat.
Like all men, my eyes wander; my mind dreams. I spot a woman with her hand tied around the wrist of a girl no older than the age of seven. I would, soon after, come to know her name: Beatrice LeDore. Her name appeared in the papers last week, she made the front page- at the cost of her precious life.
Oh, when I first saw the woman, I saw the embodiment of beauty, like what all men see when they look upon a woman who steals their breath away. I am like all other men, you see. I breathe, I bleed, I dream. Yet no one takes notice- like I am their little secret they will subdue in the back of their mind. Erased. Gone.
Invisible.
It was because I saw my shadow, I saw the woman. Because I saw the woman, I saw the child who followed in her steps. It was because I saw the impressionable innocent that I watched the mother with more care.
You see, a moment of visual satisfaction can be misleading; because I was so satisfied with the appearances I gawked over, I decided to spend a bit more of my time gawking. However, sir, it did not take long before I realized that the woman might end up being the very cause for her own daughter’s bereavement. No, she cannot take away her daughter’s life anymore.
She had diamond earrings, they hung gracefully from her pretty face; a diamond necklace, it strangled her with splendor; she had a cell-phone- which should have been engraved with diamonds because she most definitely had the money to do so.
Oh, yes, the most important factor almost slipped my mind: she did not have a wedding ring. She had not been wedded, no spouse. No man to watch over a child so young while the mother was at work. So I got closer.
The girl who dragged behind had a very lovely voice- she just so happened to exchange it with me for a small conversation at my request. She stared at the candy-cane twirling in my hand.
“Oh, what is your mother yelling about?” I would come to ask her.
She would respond, “She’s got to go somewhere, and I can’t come.”
Poor girl. Her mother was, most probably, very neglectful of her child’s needs. Another question presented itself, and I desired to hear this girl’s tale, “Why can’t you go with her?” I asked.
“Woork,” she replied, “And there’s no one to watch me at home, so now she has to yell at people.”
How the guilelessness of children never ceases to amaze me. A person. She bit her lower lip as she intently watched my fingers rattle the candy-cane about.
“I’m gunna’ have to stay home alone, [and] have fun,” she smiled weakly at me; her fright seeping through her lips like the saliva glossing them over.
Now, I may be no mathematician, but I am a rational man who is able to add up a few simple figures. That child was up to planning acts that wouldn’t play out in her favor. My knowing of archetypes leads me to believe that the innocents are oblivious to the images of life that are not as literal as what is scene through their eyes.
I have never taken it upon myself to vanquish an entity from this world for the benefit of another being. Justice shall come to everyone, and we cannot change destiny’s star variable. Maybe I was just simply a pawn- a mindless marionette dangling at the strings of the puppet master (No, it cannot be).
Either way, I felt so very compelled to end the life of a pretty lady. Smear her blood across the brick wall hiding in seclusion in the blackest part of the alleyway. So cold and damp your flesh would freeze over and you’d close your eyes in attempt to imagine yourself out of the surreality.
Oh, that girl must have painted her eyes red as her tears ran endlessly down her cheeks. The news must have ceased time itself; slowed down the revolution of her diminutive world.
How disturbed will the girl become? Perfectly pampered for seven years within her kingdom of glass till I threw the stone that shattered it all. She’s now a walking infection- her distraught perspective on life bleeding out onto the others whom she walks side-by-side. Corrupting.
She’ll only find slumber in her own fatigue drawn out by tears.
The man who did not matter stepped onto a pretty butterfly; he lazily withdrew from the path drawn out for him- tainted the ground with his footprints and destroyed the future.
What am I? Watch me stand proudly, striking a pose of integrity; thinking these strings tied about my limbs are being tugged on by a force omnipotent- impossible. I am all alone.
An invisible man.
Come outside- out of your station. I want you to find me, Mr. Police. Look out into the congested streets for this man. Between his thumb and forefinger twirls a plastic-wrapped candy-cane with twisted colors of rose and jade. My sweet little treat.
Sincerely,
The Invisible Man
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