Day 12 and the work continues here in Castle Debacle. This weekend past brought a change to our routine. Whilst my fellow inmates were slaving away, padding their word counts and performing their daily chores, I was allowed out into the Courtyard.
There was a festival there, but I was put to work rather than feasting, and thusly no further words were attained. But lo, my efforts of the week past were fruitful, and my words they did multiply.
And now I am back inside the Castle walls, once again slave to the writing.
I think of you daily, dearest Prudence, and write with continued fervor so that I may see you again soon. Each evening, I am lulled to sleep by the sounds of the distant foghorn as it warns passing ships away from the dangers of the cliffs. Each morn, I awaken to the thick fog rising up from the ocean below.
There is talk of a ship, a great ship coming to us from the northland bringing us paper and pens with which to write. Many find this a foolish rumor. A trick, to confuse and befuddle us away from our keyboards. But I’ve heard talk, whispers in the night, that the ship is real and should arrive within the month.
‘Tis foolish talk indeed, my dear Prudence, but such that I cannot fully ignore.
Still, even as I sit at the keyboard, striving toward the tea, the words vex me. Oh how they vex me so! I see them in the night, when my eyes have closed for slumber. They taunt me during the waking hours, when meals or daily chores keep me from setting them down.
But take heart, my dear, for the words are serving me. Slowly, with great determination, they are serving me well.
Soon – very soon my Prudence – we shall drink tea together again.
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2 comments:
Dear George,
O! what a fright you gave me, whereupon the arrival of your letter in my most prayerful moment when I believed that all had been lost! For it is all the talk, here, of the ship of pens and papers! There are even folk who say that the ship is MADE of those things, though they are the sort of lowly folk whose talk cannot be counted against the truth, no better than they out to be!
George, the fair folk with whom you were enburdened these past days, they have spoken in querelous scandalars upon your good name, seeking even to besmirch it! O, but I gave them what for, s'truth, they did not know where to put their faces, and no mistake!
I presently became quite sweaty and was bothered greatly, viz. the way mentioned in my previous correspondence with your fair self, and thine talk of fruitful multiplying helped not at all, e.g., it made matters worse!
The servant, Clarice, has drawn a cold bath and I shall go lay in it. Keep wary eye peeled e'er on the shores, lest the ship of pens comes happanstance upon thee in the night!
Lve,
Prudence
Dear Prudence,
I awoke from a 12 day coma. The sun was shining and the doctor tells me I was lucky to survive that train wreck. The nursing staff has been wonderful reteaching me how to socialize without having random fits of anger.
They say I could be released as early as this afternoon.
I hope things can be as they once were between us.
Love,
Ed
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