We have come a long way since our first correspondence. I look forward for the jaded old postman every week to receive your letters, only to forget all the anticipation over the excitement in your letters. Over the months I’ve keenly observed that your thoughts have evolved significantly with the brutal scars of denial and desperation irreversibly denting your thought process. The chirpy Evan, who wrote his first letter for fun was not present on the other side anymore. I’ve tried to decipher the shallow and wooden nature of your letters since the past few months only to find myself nudged between deep seated emotions. But I wouldn’t have found the answer if not for your last letter. Evan, you’ve finally asked for my help.
Life, Evan is not a bag of problems. Life is not about challenges either. Life, Evan is all about how readily you’ve solved the problems while facing the challenges. It’s like the economy. If there’s more money and less time to spend, people will like it but if the situation changes, the mob attacks. Evan, life’s small, I know it and even you do. Forget the rosy philosophical pictures which portray life as a rose sans the thorns. Inspire yourself Evan, all you need now is some inspiration. Inspiration needn’t be paint smeared professional slaves. One can get inspired even by the defunct and the worthless. Remember Evan, a rose always comes with the thorns. Take for example the newspaper, it lives it’s day fluttering in pride barricading the reader from the world around and absorbs him into itself to transform the reader into the world of the meek and the vile. It lives its life, a single day enlightening and entertaining the masses beyond and at times under their expectations. Even if it contains the greatest source of knowledge, no newspaper ever lasts longer than its life time. And most often it ends up being a supplement to the tissue papers or aluminum foils. The newspaper is you Evan, it is you. You may house the best brains of the world but the way it’s used depends upon the people around. Evan, you are the newspaper which no one reads, Evan, with every passing day you are becoming an insignificant part of history. But, if the same newspaper becomes the cause for someone breaking their elbow or cracking their skull, they’d never forget it for their life. And also they won’t treat the piece of paper as they did it earlier, they’ll respect it Evan, out of fear. And not many people break their backs on newspapers Evan. Boldness begets fame. Be the paper that teaches the patsies respect.
A King never dies alone. This fact has been proved right many times in history, right from the Egyptians to Serbians and from Alexander to Genghis Khan. Did you know that the Serb warlords buried their dead kings with their personal band of soldiers, alive? A King never accepts his defeat Evan, half of the bloody wars on this earth were fought by King’s who wouldn’t accept their defeat. Wars were fought just to soothe the bloated egos of the advanced tribes. Wars were fought at places where one couldn’t win and the other couldn’t lose. War Evan, is not a crime, it’s just a game of monopoly played by players who never want to lost. It’s you Evan, who can decide whether you’d fight like a king or make peace with life by stoning a crow on your parapet wall to death. You Evan are the King to your emotions. You let them free there’ll be peace, you pressure them up within you, there’ll be a fuckin’ revolt.
Never die alone Evan, never. A day of memorial is not worthy for a man of your might. Open up the holster, and before taking a pill share your joy with others. And Evan, you will not be under the spell of oblivion anymore. You’ll become greater than what you ever were. Evan, it’s better for being remembered at forty other memorials for forty years than to be remembered at your own private memorial for ten years. The bold always get the best. There is no Devil and no God, there is only you who created both of them to gratify your deeds and make you believe in yourself. You are the one, Evan. Be the Devil and kill them all or become the God and lose your all.
Your Loving Friend,
“Breaking News, our special new correspondent Emily Shaw reports from Wardenort, businessman and banking baron, Evan Torreane, was killed in a tragic fire that engulfed his private home here on early Tuesday morning. At least 90 people were believed to be in the building at the time of the tragic accident. The police are mum at the moment and our reliable sources tell that the local hospital was already full of charred bodies. These sources put the body count anywhere between 80 to 90. The reason behind this tragic incident is not yet known, but the police believe that it could be arson. Please stay hooked for more information on this update”
“In what seemed to be a bizarre accident, the blow up at the local Torreane estates is no accident as people believe it to be. The Chief Inspector Henry Stalgard, has confirmed that as many as 40 bodies had life threatening bullet wounds. The body count is not yet known as the firefighters are still struggling to put down the fire that’s been breaking the news since the past 24 hours. Could this be a terrorist attack? Wait on to know more”
“Evan, Evan, Evan. I know that you’d do it mate. I knew it. I kiss this little flower goodbye, and burn it in your memory.”- Jack Forester hid his journal under the sink, thick fumes puffed out for a minute as he held a rose, a burning rose in his left hand.
[Note: It's been nearly a month since I've written anything Real. I'll try to be regular from now on! And if you like the post please do share it with your friends and also apologies to all my friends, to whose blogs I owe a lot of comments :). Believe me, I'll make up for it. Cheers!]