August 6, 2011 - 6:25am — GingerNut
It seemed that the only remedy nowadays was a few swift hits to the head. Nothing much, mind you, just a good repeated beating against some unfortunate tree that just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Eyes clenched shut; a young piebald stag did just that. The feathers upon his head shamefully gliding to the mossy ground under his feet with every collision that his skull endured. His sides were slick with sweat and his head seemed to be imploding in on itself. It wasn’t pleasant, but it also wasn’t the worst day that he had undergone.
Gritting his teeth, Pert pressed his forehead against the tree’s uneven bark, grinding his head against it with a small groan of discomfort.
Of course; the forest was beautiful, as always.
And it was that landscape, as a whole, that sickened him so.
Though self-mutilation did help dull the pain, it did not stop the endless hallucinations. One after another. Muddled nonsensical phantasms.
Pert opened his eyes, and in his peripheral vision he caught sight of a boy.
The Boy.
The one whose name had slipped through the cracks of the piebald’s stolen memory.
He looked older now, maybe eighteen or so. He no longer hid behind a faraway tree. Rather, he stepped boldly forward, confronting him with a hostile glare.
Pert examined him, searching for anything that might jog his memory on who the boy was. He had a scraggly beard now, just as red as his unkempt hair. He wore a ripped, grey woolen sweatshirt that had probably seen better days.
Oddly enough, there was another sweater tied around his waist, its army green color contrasting with the grey. Evidently he had little to no real fashion sense.
Pert didn’t have enough time to think, for the boy (man now, really) carried a muddled mass of papers in his hand. With an accusing frown, he held them up, dropping them from his hand in front of Pert’s hooves.
The piebald stared at them suspiciously, noting how they were all hand-written and torn in several places. Inkblots littered the crinkled parchment, rendering some words completely illegible.
“You… You want me to read these, right?” he asked, turning back to the boy, who stood just a few feet away.
The young man nodded, his own chocolate brown eyes shooting daggers at the stag as he turned to retreat several some yards. Cautiously, he sat cross-legged next to a tree, observing. Gaze fixed, he dipped a phantom hand into his jeans pocket, taking out a dirtied box of Winston’s and a tarnished lighter.
Pert grimaced as he watched his hallucination light the cigarette, ears flattening against his matted black hair. Between the two, he much preferred the man’s younger self. At least then he didn’t seem so intimidating.
Smoke trailing from his mouth, the man frowned at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling in an expression that seemed more bitter than angry.
”Read em’”
Flinching, the piebald hunkered to the ground, craning his neck over to make out the barely legible handwriting.
And so, under the enigma’s piercing glare, he began to read.
---
Dear Christof,
How is your diorama coming? The one with all that scrap metal I recall you hoarding in your living room? I still have fond memories over nearly infecting myself with tetanus when I had to trek over all those rusty hubcaps and car doors that you’d like to use.
You’ve probably finished it all by now. After all, it’s been about five years since I’ve last seen you. Is Crystal alright? Does she still have her waitress job down the road? Ah, and Olay, is she doing well? I’m pretty sure that she’s in high school at this point unless she’s skipped a few grades. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has. Hopefully you’re helping her with scholarships and grant money for her inevitable college years down the road.
Your son is doing as well as one can from being confined to cheap motels and dank alleyways. I myself have recently picked up a nasty cold, but I’ll live. We’re currently wintering in a shelter just south of the state border–line. Neither of us particularly enjoys being curbed in an open hall with mildew-burdened cots and cold breakfasts, but we’ll make do. At first, we were both interrogated with questions about our ages, where our parents are, ete. XXXXXX has already won them over with a stew of lies he just came up with on the fly. Something about us fleeing from being drafted (though as you well know neither of us is eligible in the first place). Thankfully he was right that most of the staff was a liberal bunch. I’ve read that it’s getting pretty nasty over there anyway.
We're both now pretty much the favorites of everyone here, so we’re getting special treatment. The only way we can really maintain our status in the shelter’s hierarchy is by playing ‘Oliver Twist’ to the head and flirting with the volunteers, which has become a game in of itself. We’re the only younger men in the shelter as of now, so there’s really no challenge in it.
In all seriousness though, you’re probably surprised that we’re both even alive to begin with. I’d explain why, but I’d have to buy extra postage in order to do so. We have little money as it is, and you of all people would know about cutting corners (save of course for your art supplies and scrap metal).
XXXXXXX doesn’t know that I’m writing this by the way. I offered the prospect of us killing time being cooped up in here by contacting you and my own parents as well. He was fairly adamant about it, saying that it would probably be better if you thought us dead. Actually, he’s right beside me even as I write asking what I’m doing (yes, he’s still as illiterate as before).
The main reason that I’m writing to you in particular is because you were kind to me whenever I visited your apartment. I recall how you would often hide all of your displayed artwork in the linen closet before I arrived so that I wouldn’t get headaches and make a scene. I’m still grateful for that, even if the gesture itself may not have been worth much to you. You probably just wanted me to shut up for the time that I visited, but even so, not many other people have understood how my mental condition pertains to contemporary artwork. Think of this update letter as my own personal thanks.
Oh yes, I forgot. XXXXXXX has picked up a particularly nasty smoking habit since you’ve last seen him. Since we’re confined to a shelter, I made it my own duty to help break his habit by disposing of the horde of cigarette cartons he keeps and claiming that he simply lost them (or that one of the volunteers confiscated them). He’s getting pretty bad withdrawal symptoms, but I suspect that he’ll be fine after a few more weeks.
Besides that, there isn’t much else going on in either of our lives. Finding work has become increasingly difficult for the both of us. Usually we get kicked out of a job within the first few weeks. Don’t ask why. Actually, I think you know why. You aren’t as stupid as I sometimes think you to be.
By the way, you won’t be able to trace this letter. Disregard the return address; I just picked it randomly from one of the houses on a street we passed some months ago. I wanted to make sure that you’d receive this, though there’s always the possibility that you’ve finally been evicted. Hopefully you’ve bothered to pay a fraction of your overdue rent in last years since I’ve seen you.
I may send another update letter if anything happens or if we get ourselves into the military after all. Don’t expect anything though. I wrote this more out of boredom than out of an obligation to your kindness.
Sincerely,
Pert Kambell
---
The ink smudges were blotting out a single name. As far as Pert could tell, they pertained to the man that continued to scowl at him from afar. That had to be it. Why else would this enigmatic hallucination force him to read these?
The thing that stared at him was a friend, then? Or at least a manifestation of the one that Pert described in the letter. From the way that it was written, it seemed as if they had been compainions for quite a while, going even so far as traveling great distances together.
Pert could only vaguely recall bits and pieces of his human life, and the man inhabited none of them. The piebald had always assumed that the phantasm that followed him about was a long-forgotten remnant of his past; he just didn’t know who he was to him. A friend? A brother?
Well, obviously a friend of some sort.
Still… had he really gone as far as taking away the man’s nicotine in secret, leaving him to suffer through something as terrible as a cold turkey withdrawal? The ethics behind it seemed slanted at best, mostly leaning towards the negative side.
And why would he send a letter to the man’s father against his own wishes? That seemed equally shady. The whole thing about Christof’s ‘kindness’ didn’t hold much weight considering that the man had ‘adamantly’ refused making contact.
Pert reread the letter over again, ignoring the names that were mentioned in the first paragraph. They held no meaning to him, nor did they jog his memory in the slightest. The name ‘Olay’ did strike him as exceptionally odd, though. It almost seemed unnatural, like a sort of name you’d give to your dog rather than a child.
Scanning over the remaining paragraphs, one quote struck the piebald as unusual.
“Usually we get kicked out of a job within the first few weeks. Don’t ask why. Actually, I think you know why. You aren’t as stupid as I sometimes think you to be.”
There was a lot of hostility in that jumbled mass of sentences. That and the handwriting seemed rushed in comparison to the rest of the letter’s overall penmanship.
There was also the quote’s context to consider. Why was it evidently so hard for them to find work and why did they get kicked out? The whole thing brought up more questions than answers.
Pert shook his head in frustration. Really, he much preferred being in the dark of his past life than getting small fragments of it. Now he just wanted to know more.
The hallucination knew this. Snapping his fingers, he brought back Pert’s attention, pointing down to the remaining stack.
”Keep goin’”
Pert glared back, fighting back an urge to snap back a remark. Instead, he carelessly slid away the letter to ‘Christof’ and continued to the next one.
The first line was enough to make him audibly gasp.
The rest was enough to send a cold chill down his spine.
---
My Dearest Mother,
I apologize for writing so late in the year. We’ve both been busy as of late with all the cold weather and relentless storms. Is Garnier alright? He’s not that far from turning eighteen, if my math is correct. Here’s to hoping that the draft ends before it can get to him. I suspect that the lotteries might end soon from what I’ve been hearing from others, but rumors are rumors.
I’m enclosing our current address in the envelope on a separate sheet of paper in case you’d like to send me a reply. I strongly suggest that you not come looking for me by it though. As much I miss both you and Garnier, I wouldn’t want you to take time out of your busy work schedule to come and visit us.
XXXXXX and I are currently wintering here for the next few weeks or so (depending on how much the weather clears up). We’re both in good physical health, though I cannot say the same for my own mental problems.
Actually, that’s my main reason for writing. I was wondering if you still had any of my prolixin stored. If so, could you please send several months’ supply to the enclosed address? I fear that my condition has grown steadily worse without it.
I’ve gone as far as attacking XXXXXXX in my disoriented state. It's nothing too serious, just a few scratches here and there. I always try to isolate myself when I think something may happen, but sometimes I get caught offguard. He understands, but my violence towards him has brought on a small rift between us.
(At this point there were some paragraphs that were completely scratched out, rendering most of the letter illegible)
I eagerly wait for your reply (and possibly package?) as soon as possible.
With Love,
Pert
---
The letter's handwriting seemed stiff, almost business-like in its style compared to the careless scrawl from the first. So much information was crammed into those few brief paragraphs that it made the stag's head spin in confusion. In a way, he was glad that so much of it was scratched out. It would probably only add to the wildfire of dug up memories.
Around the last readable paragraph for so he felt so ungodly nauseous that he felt the need to look away, to focus back onto the hallucination's condescending stare.
The enigma simply chuckled coldly from afar.
"Yeah Pert. Bout' time ya realized that yew were the one that fucked it all up."
The worst part was that there was still more to come.
---
This is gonna be long. Really absurdly long.
It'll also be slow in updating (despite how I've written more than half of the bloody thing over the course of several weeks for short bursts at a time)
... Hopefully most people will get what the hell is going on. If not, you soon will, even if your aren't that familiar with the characters.
I also apologize if it seems like its been rushed... even when that's not the case. This whole letter ordeal has been split into two parts just for the sake of everyone's sanity, hence the slight shortness of this.
DSLJGKLAJGBDLKAJAGBALJYAAAAAA
/pointless comment to track and express love
Edit - Okay, now I've read it and can actually leave a coherent comment. xD
From the first time I read Pert's bio... I was hooked. I want to know more, almost desperately so. You know I've always loved your various characters, (even the ones we try to forget about now xD). Everything you write... I want more. I will wait, of course, but I want more. <3333
You are an amazing writer, and don't you dare forget it. <333333
Signature by Roo ♥
tracktracktracktracktracktrac
...I think Mr. Sanguine's
Signature by Roo ♥
Long is fine with me if it's
Hey, I agree with Pega. I
I was actually disappointed when it ended. I was very interested.
I was waiting eagerly for
This is so interesting as always, never stop ♥
Now I can't wait for the next one ;3;
Oh god you guiz ;~; Fuckin'
Skits; Hurrr<333 Thank ye~ Don't forget thet you're awesome too with your writing! Oh yesh, and I'm mailing you a letter today, lol 8D
Vannyshmammy; *lovelovelovelovelovelovelvelovelovelovelovelve* Thank youuuu<3
Pega/Ammy; Thank you so much! Heh, after the second part of this it'll probably lengthen up a bit~
Munkadunk; As much as I sometimes want to I don't think I can<3 Thank ye, love~
~tracks~ o.o
(No subject)
Yay, letter! 8D I'll actually have to go to the post office on Monday then. |DDD
Signature by Roo ♥
Pand; Why thank you and
Skits; It probably won't come until Tuesday xD I missed the mail truck this morning... ;~;
Something to look forward to
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I'm looking forward to more,