This dreadful set of circumstances has only increased in intensity in the last several hours. Beginning my journey with what appeared to be a pleasant train ride, that then turned postal- sexually aggressive and creepy. Chance, is clearly for gamblers more skilled and less attractive than I. Whether the source of my maladies is that I seem to have loose morals or am as scrumptious as a moist morsel to these male creatures- who could truly know. Blast my gorgeous being and accelerated ability to banter! Rawr. That was mere jest, my love. Do not believe sir, that I am so conceded.
My younger brother, Jacob, has clearly lost his mind. Reporting a claim that he had seen the Dark hooded Angel of Death above my Grandmother’s hospital bed! But do not fret friend, he exclaimed to the creature- “to go away! She is not ready!” All the while I sat unsuspecting by her bedside her hand cradled by my own. This is obviously a problem, a delusional brother makes claims of supernatural activity with oblivious witnesses, oh my! I am filled with rage at the source of such lies, my grandmother had been pouring ants into his ears as he slept. She had glued furniture to ceilings and made shadow puppets in the night. The loose ramblings of her troubled mind, she tossed and turned in her sleep- nightmares of her own invention. I am unable to feel sympathy, this started too long ago and remains too close. To suck the reason from someone already so detached- a crime. She has bolted shut the doors through which it would have came, set them with the cloaked guard of angels and demons. Catholicism strikes again, no wonder she was so afraid.
Speaking in bright tones of lighter things, Victor appears well. He has acquired many a tales of thievery and scandal in his new occupation. Irritating him most are those window shoppers, all empty pockets and longing glances. “How they ask to see object after object and never buy a thing,” he says- utterly wasting his time. The nerve! “Welcome to retail,” I sing in between bites of crisp tofu. His eyes have looked so tired since the surgery, it clenches my throat and tightens my stomach to think about it. Never unto now has he ever smelled so much like an aging man, I silently sigh. We jest, mocking each others hobbies and eating habits. The former tightness is but a flutter now as my heart rests to the beat of home. If this meeting were a poem it would be entitled, Father on a Day.
To be continued…
