Dear reader,
I would like to start today’s issue of This Should Have Been an Email with an immortal quote from the American intellectual Michael Gary Scott:
Sometimes I'll start a sentence and I don't even know where it's going. I just hope I find it along the way.
These words capture the feeling of writing about the truly important moments in my life, those that are burned in my memories forever.
As I write these letters, I am pulling the curtain and revealing to myself what those events have left behind. Good or bad, sadness or joy, melancholy or excitement; I am in a foreign land boarding a train without knowing the destination nor the dangers of the journey.
Once on the train, I sit down near the window and glance through it regularly, hoping that the foliage of the trees, the colour of the houses and the shapes in the clouds would help me understand where I am heading. Fortunately, they often do.
I won’t reveal my destination to you. Instead, I invite you to board the train too and glance through the window with me. Maybe, you will figure out where we are going.
According to the lousy publishing schedule that I arbitrarily implemented in January, today I will present a small fiction piece. For some reason, the last two pieces (including this one) have resulted in some kind of gloomy poetry/prose/song.
Why? I am not really sure. On one hand, I find this form of expression a more succinct way of getting the job done. Also, rhyming is fun.
On the other hand, my recent experience writing 7 Years of Normality showed me how difficult it is to produce something similar each month, especially when there are time constraints. I am hoping that, under the right circumstances, I can use these poems/songs as a starting point to write long-form stories.
For now, I leave you to it 😊
The Thirst
Have you felt the thirst? I bet he is feeling it. I bet he fears his reflection in the water. I bet he fears losing it if he fought her.
It will be over soon. The steel in my blood is shaking. Before the next moon or earlier, I am anticipating.
He has been thirsty for so long that his skin is falling apart. His lips are cracking, eyes of paper, he cannot even fake a smile.
His mouth is dry as
the sand under his feet.
His mind is rambling
With echoes bouncing in the abyss.
Soon, he will come looking for me. I will be ready when he does. His, hers, and their offspring’s, the thirst will one day crush their lungs.
Gasping, wheezing, tossing on the floor. Suffocated screams calling at my door. How long can you go, child, Before your nature turns wild, and realise that your lie is what keeps your soul dry?
Is she thirsty too? Is that metal in her hand? Is this how lovers celebrate? Euphoria, empty glasses and a dance? Then we shall dance and twist and turn and jump and hide. Pity that you are both too thirsty and there is no wine for this romance.
Place your finger gently on me To put an end to your misery To escape the inclement drought To claim your pointless victory Here is the water that you seek I am the mirage in the desert I am the answer that you need but you ignore so you don’t hurt her.
Do you feel the excitement, the freedom, the rush? You wandered this hell for aeons Always knowing where I was. Raise your glass courageously It’s time to end this plot Scream her name, let her see you. Kill your thirst with your last shot.
This train stops here, ladies and gentlemen. Take your belongings and mind the gap between the train and the platform.
We will be back to the usual nonsense next Wednesday. If you have enjoyed these letters, even a little, please consider sharing them with someone. It means a lot to me and the future of this publication :)
Sayonara.
C.