The cold stink of Gary air pierces my nostrils. I think back to when I first got the letter in the mail, how could he have known? I didn't take it seriously when it first arrived, Jhasen and a bad Tarot reading were my only thoughts. The things he asked for and promises he wanted me to make, I thought it was his way of starting an e-mail story without a computer, a macabre story at that. But now how could I not believe he knew? Nate, Sally and Mike are asleep in the back I wish I could warn them that this is going to be more than just some sick road trip, it's going to change us forever but I have to wait for everyone else. Chris begins to talk about his japanimation version of how it went down and how it would have been different if he'd been there. My THC coated mind tries to filter some sense of this whole trip through cracks and pows from my friend. The death has affected us all in some way but Chris has been acting out of control. He took all our guns insisting that Ryan had asked, I pray it's true for Chris's sanity and mine; hopefully Ryan also got a letter so I don't feel so strange reading it to everyone. We'll be there soon and I wonder how I'll go about telling them, maybe Ryan already has, I hope so, either way we’re about to take a road much less traveled.






-robnotrob-
--Letters from a Savior; Offer for a few--


back--forward

With B.E.F. Jun 10. Dear Wife,
(Oh blast this pencil. 'Ere, Bill, lend's a knife.)
I'm in the pink at present, dear.
I think the war will end this year.
We don't see much of them square-'eaded 'Uns.
We're out of harm's way, not bad fed.
I'm longing for a taste of your old buns.
(Say, Jimmie, spare's a bite of bread.)
There don't seem much to say just now.
(Yer what? Then don't, yer ruddy cow!
And give us back me cigarette!)
I'll soon be 'ome. You mustn't fret.
My feet's improvin', as I told you of.
We're out in the rest now. Never fear.
(VRACH! By crumbs, but that was near.)
Mother might spare you half a sov.
Kiss Nell and Bert. When me and you-
(Eh? What the 'ell! Stand to? Stand to!
Jim, give's a hand with pack on, lad.
Guh! Christ! I'm hit. Take 'old. Aye, bad.
No, damn your iodine. Jim? 'Ere!
Write my old girl, Jim, there's a dear.)

- Wilfred Owen, 1918

Amy Lowell (1874-1925)

Little cramped words scrawling all over the paper
Like draggled fly's legs,
What can you tell of the flaring moon
Through the oak leaves?
Or of my uncurtained window and the bare floor
Spattered with moonlight?
Your silly quirks and twists have nothing in them
Of blossoming hawthorns,
And this paper is dull, crisp, smooth, virgin of loveliness
Beneath my hand.

I am tired, Beloved, of chafing my heart against
The want of you;
Of squeezing it into little inkdrops,
And posting it.
And I scald alone, here, under the fire
Of the great moon.
Dear Susanna

Yes, it's seems a little strange for me to be writing to you after so long, especially after what I did to you. I wonder if you still know who I am, know what my favourite movie is, even what the colour of my eyes are. But I’ll never forget you, your hazel eyes glinting in the moonlight, your skin like silk when we touched, the scent of your hair when we used to dance to our little songs…

I shall hide it no longer, this foolish pride that was the cause of our parting. I need your help, my love. They are out to get me and my kind, only you can help us. These foolish mortals that dared to taunt our love shall pay for what they did to us! Their advances draw nearer and near with each passing second, please do not waste any time. Elric, our current leader, is making plans for a counter-attack. But I fear that is foolish, my love, for his anger deepened after the slaying of his only daughter. The cowards dragged her screaming out of their family castle, into the hideous light. Her burning flesh made the most terrifying imprint into the ground, one of pure hate of the mortals. The new owner has been trying to get the imprint removed, but after seven years of trying they have given up. Rumour says that her spirit haunts the place, but what difference does it make now that the castle has been deserted?

Beloved, we need your clan's help. Your kind does not look at us very kindly and we respect that. Once this slaughter has passed the clans need not meet ever again. But we need your people’s strength, my love, to show these mortals that the undead should rule over them like the sheep that they are! And let us unite once more, in the unholy unison we once had! My dear Susanna, how I long to be close to you…

If all goes well this letter will have reached you by All Hallows Eve, for the attack will happen two weeks from now. We are currently hiding in the far caves of the mountain ranges, near Elric’s castle.

Take care, my love, for we shall be together soon. Always remember that I love you…

Yours for eternity,

Horatio Walt

Horati's letter was intercepted before it reached its destination. His whole Clan was wiped out...

...and Susanna didn't it know at all

"With all my heart I still love the man I killed!"

 

The Letter (1940)
B & W, Drama, 95 minutes
Released by Warner Bros.
Directed by William Wyler
Screenplay by W. Somerset Maugham and Howard Koch


Principal Cast:
Bette Davis  . . . . . . . . . Leslie Crosbie
Herbert Marshall . . . . . . . Robert Crosbie
James Stephenson . . . . . . . Howard Joyce
Frieda Inescourt . . . . . . . Dorothy Joyce
Gale Sondergaard . . . . . . . Mrs. Hammond
Bruce Lester . . . . . . . . . John Withers
Victor Sen Yung  . . . . . . . Ong Chi Seng
Elizabeth Inglis  . . . . . .  Adele Ainsworth
Cecil Kellaway  . . . . . . .  Prescott 
 

It's safe to say that for a few years, Bette Davis was the reigning queen of the Warner Bros. studio. Consequently, when plans were laid to film a new version of W. Somerset Maugham's steamy melodrama The Letter, there was little doubt that Miss Davis would be assigned the plum role of Leslie Crosbie. A plum role it was, too, well suited to the famous Davis acting style. Indeed, once you’ve seen the movie, it's difficult to imagine any other actress in the role. Barbara Stanwyck, perhaps, but she'd have brought a hardness to the character that might have been a bit much; and Joan Crawford, unless she received careful direction, would have been prone to go over the top.

The Letter garnered seven Academy Award nominations (including a fourth nomination for Davis as Best Actress), but failed to win in any of the categories. No matter – the film has stood the test of time and is today regarded a classic of film noir moviemaking. The original book was said to be 'hard to put down', and the movie is no less gripping. It grabs you within the first few minutes with its famous opening sequence, and doesn't let go until the surprise ending.

The scene is a rubber plantation somewhere in "The Orient", where bored housewife Leslie Crosbie lives with her long-suffering faithful husband. The story revolves around Leslie's cold-blooded murder of her lover and her efforts first to conceal, and then deny, the deed. Throw in a family lawyer willing to jeopardize his career to protect Leslie, and the vengeful Eurasian wife of Leslie's lover, and you have all the ingredients needed for a suspenseful night at the movies.

Originally a 1927 stage production, The Letter was first filmed in 1929 with the great Broadway actress Jeanne Eagels in the title role, and a 1982 television remake starred Lee Remick. While both are fine films, it’s the Davis version that most remember. Under the direction of William Wyler, Miss Davis turned in a performance that's not quickly forgotten.


SOURCES

The Internet Movie Database.<http://www.imdb.com>. (March 2005).
Dirks, Tim, "The Letter", Greatest Films. <http://www.filmsite.org/lett.html> (March 2005).

Hey kid.

Remember that field trip to the sand dunes we took when we were in school together? I don't know why I just said that. Why am I remembering this now? Strange. I remember the stars... I don't like them now... but at that time I did. I was childishly happy. And as the sun set on the sand dunes, I climbed to the top of the biggest one and witnessed as the stars took over the sky... oh... now I recall. I made a pact with God that day (still believed once, I know- hard to think so) that if I reached the top I'd come back down with a strong resolve.

Do you know what that resolve was? Of course you don't.

This is the only thing I never told to even my notebooks. But now, as I'm reminded of it in my insomniac haze, after three years of holding it firmly in my subconscious, I'll tell you. It's time that I did.
Because as I looked at your eyes coming down that hill, I knew I'd never break it- ever.

I resolved that I would never touch you, ask or accept any kindness of yours, and never intentionally cause you mental or physical harm.

I wanted to be your friend but didn't at the same time back then.
And by this resolution I'd win, on my own terms.

I wanted to win on my own but you cheated- you let me win like you did at the chess tournament. I made a stupid mistake in the end but you let me defeat you anyway. Don't you see? I'm writing to you now only because you asked me to continue! I tried to stop but you wrote me. You asked... By default I've always been accepting your kindness... your compliments. I'm a friend to you right now but at the same time I'm nothing but a stranger writing letters! You broke the resolve but I was a simpleton to blindly let you.

I've won, sure.
But I've lost. I've lost since the beginning.

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