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To He Whom Wishes To Know (Part 1)

Theodore B. Dove (D.T)

28 Sep, 2016 11:38 PM

To he whom wishes to know,

Unless you yourself are a stout dis-believer, or a religious person of high standing and pure heart, it is ill advised you should continue reading this poorly scrawled narrative of the events that incessantly haunt my nights and days. Turn instead to another tale of another person, and allow your soul to remain unperturbed by those archaic spirits awakened by my meddling; an act of foolishness for which there is no remedy.

Do not think the fact my heart still proceeds with its methodical pumping that my horror is none the less, nor that my shaky breaths show any true sign of life - for how can one live after being faced with heinous secrets not meant for mere mortals, instead belonging to something mightier and older then any god. Even now, as I write this final letter, I hear their voices whispering behind the peeling wallpaper of the rented room I have taken to hiding within. It is apparent that I shall not find any respite from those whom wish my silence.

The unwavering skepticism I once upheld against all others who spoke of dark things beyond the common conceptions of man has been forever shaken to its’ core, and I find myself lacking the ability to distinguish between that which is real, and that is which not.

But do not be beguiled dear reader, these are not the only reasons why I now choose death over the inevitable atrocities awaiting me if I stay - a choice you will soon come to understand. Alone, that which has latched itself onto me would be sufficient reason to sever my cord with this world; yet that is not truly why I feel I no longer need remain.

To begin with I will allow the reader a small glimpse of the person I was, though I shall only touch lightly upon this subject, lest my harrowing tale turns into some kind of autobiography.

It had been my intention ever since youth to become a reporter of substance, and allow no truth to slip my notice or become twisted within the fabric of selfish humans; something those appointed to care for us children at the orphanage I called home had neglected - but again that is another tale for another time.

What point would their be in elaborating on the eighteen years of torment lashed out by carers, guardians, friends, strangers and bullies? Or how my first day working at the Opinion Dominion I was mistaken for one of the many custodians and covered in dirty water when the receptionist forced a mop and bucket into my hands?

Instead, for now, before the reader delves any further into dark abysses, and wades beside me in the despicable cesspool of this worlds foulest corners, I wish to convey the depths of my love for Alice. This story, in truth, neither ends nor begins with meeting Miss Alice Sunmist, though to me that shall always be the order of events, and will forever be the basis for the beginning of this tale.

December 19, 2008

Whether it was the ethereal push of fate, or mere coincidence, did not matter, for my eyes beheld the single snowflake so diverse from the rest; many such poetic phrases and snippets sprang to mind - not withholding the old classic, ‘beauty is in the eye of the beholder.’ The glum light flooding through thick snow-filled clouds did nothing to slight her majesty, though the stabbing winds still penetrated my long coat.

My companions, spying out and declaring those whom them deemed pleasing to the eyes, and thus worthy of copulation, failed to mention her beauty. Neither did I feel the necessity to correct them on the assumptions they made of whom within the bustling crowds passing and stopping around Nelsons Column in Trafalgar Square was the most appealing.

This had not been the first time I was graced with her presence, seeing her regularly whilst on my lunch break with a few of those from my office; we were the copy-editors, filtering through the newspaper before passing it on to the editorial chief. And for the past year Jacob, and his cousin Doug, had been inviting me to this spot for lunch - lacking any other offers, though I had already been there two years prior, I accompanied them daily.

Where it was she worked was not easily deduced; her attire matched ours, in the sense she always wore suits, but other then that there was no give-away. Normally she sat by herself reading some book or another, occasionally eating a sandwich and drinking some hot beverage. Her focus remained purely on whatever she was reading, and she puckered her mouth or bit her lower lip when concentrating.

Only twice did our eyes meet during my time watching her - for the relief of the reader let me verify my reasons for merely watching here for nearly a year belonged to the fact I had not the courage to approach such a beautiful women - and this occasion was the second.

Never had I been bold in life and done whatever I wished without a crippling fear of repercussions. Never had I moved before thought could cultivate any doubts or worries. This would be my moment. I knew this was not love - especially not love at first sight, for to love someone at a glance is shallow - but I found myself incredibly attracted to her, and wanted to delve through her outer beauties to those gems that lay within.

(If I get enough likes I’ll continue)...

Tags: Dark, Love, Fear, Death
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vanna says:
29 Oct, 2016 04:28 PM

Omg plz continue dint stop there

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Bethany says:
26 Nov, 2016 04:12 AM

Your writing style is extremely interesting, rather like Edgar Allan Poe. I found this very well written and would advise you to keep up the good work.

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Jes says:
17 Jan, 2017 07:22 AM

Your writing is beautiful

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