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Author Topic: Braignir's Journal Entries  (Read 1214 times)

Offline Dizzy

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Braignir's Journal Entries
« on: February 11, 2016, 08:53:55 AM »
A diary. A soldier I've been drinking with lately recommended I keep one. He says it helps in times like these to remember the friends you've lost and the ones you'd leave behind if.....you know. I've been looking for any excuse not to do this. Not to think about my past...or you. I want to say that I can't think of anyone. That I've never had anyone to call a "friend". But that wouldn't do you justice, would it?

I don't think I'm the diary writing type, but letters to someone I care about sounds like something I can handle. Seems less like I'm talking to myself. I guess I'll start tomorrow, but for now, I'm going to go have lunch with someone. I'll tell you all about it later, but I'd like to reminisce about my past when I have another chance to write. You know I don't like thinking about a lot of the things that happened back then, let alone write about it. You're the only person I could open up to like this. Expect my next letter soon. That's what I'd say if I ever planned to send these.

Offline Dizzy

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Re: Braignir's Journal Entries
« Reply #1 on: February 11, 2016, 08:54:11 AM »
Dear, Sam

I said your name aloud as I wrote it, it's been so long since I've been able to. You've always been the only person I have ever been able to call "friend". As far back into my past as I can remember, way back to the Orphanage, you have been the only one. Of course, I wasn't likely to have many friends being the only elf in a human settlement.

When we met, I thought I had many friends. I thought that basically anyone who interacted with me was my friend. I thought all of these "friends" had given me this amazing nickname, "Knife-ear". I remember how confused I was at first when you wouldn't join in on the cool "games" I played with the other children in the Orphanage, like "Who can hide in a locked closet the longest" and "Who's tough enough to sleep without blankets". I always won of course. There were so many cold nights back then. I used to hate you for not playing. I thought maybe you figured you were too cool for me or something. It wasn't until we played "Catch the rocks" that you stepped in. I'd been hit just above my right eye by a particularly large stone and begun to bleed. Everyone was laughing, so I tried to laugh away the pain. Not you though, no, you ran over to me screaming bloody murder at these "friends". I was so upset that I lashed out at you, that I almost punched you. How dare you talk to them that way? You just kept looking at me like you'd found some poor, injured little animal. I was so confused and upset, that it was weeks before I actually talked to you.

You tried so hard to befriend me, you never gave up. You were always there to patch me up after "games", and you always used such a kind tone when you spoke to me. It was that kindness that finally opened my eyes to the cruelty surrounding me. One day during my bath, the other children took my clothes away and kicked me out into the hall. No one would help me, even the adults. I think they laughed the hardest at the little naked "Knife-ear". You came bursting through the halls carrying towels and a spare set of your clothes after you heard. You looked like a saint to me, come to save your lowly disciple. I don't know if it was because of the beauty of what you'd done or the shame and humiliation I suffered, but I wept. For the first time I can remember, I cried. You held me then, this shivering and wet little creature, until I'd regained some of my senses. When I looked up at you, there were streaks of tears coming down your face. You'd cried too. When I asked why, you told me it's just what happens when you see a friend cry. I had never realized it, but up until that moment, nobody had ever called me that before. We were inseparable from that moment on, like the water I was soaked in had cemented us together somehow. Two small children joined at the hip as though from the same womb. It was the second happiest I'd ever be in my life.

As happy as we were, though, the mistreatment didn't stop. When you began to go to lessons, I wasn't allowed to attend. Since the children from the Orphanage went to the same instructors as the "normal" kids, and since the "normal"'s parents were the ones actually paying the instructors, their parents were the ones who decided to allow children from the Orphanage to participate as well. They didn't like the idea of an elf attending the classes with their human children. "Might taint them.", they said. Like I was some infected animal in a herd of healthy ones. And it wasn't like the greedy instructors were going to go out of their way to teach me.

While you were away I'd get picked on and stuff, but none of that really mattered to me because later you'd be there with me. Whenever you came back from lessons, we'd go over what you'd learned that day. Well, as much as we could go over before the allure of spending the afternoon playing and catching bugs overtook us.

However, it was only a matter of time before the bullying spread to you. This was a bit into our middle-years. Too old to be called children, and too young to be adults. It seemed to be around this time that people really took a notice to our friendship, and they didn't like it. We had just been moved over to the West wing, where they send the ones unlikely to be adopted after they turn a certain age. I remember you bribed the person whose bed was next to mine to trade places with you. You'd decided to continue taking lessons in town, and I payed for it with silver I earned working for farmers during harvest season. One afternoon, you came home with a bruise on your left cheek, just above where your freckles were the densest. I remember the moment I saw you very well. The sweltering heat rushing to my face and neck, the raw anger and sadness, the overwhelmingly violent urges. I knew you wouldn't let me know who'd done it, you wouldn't want me hunting them down. You were always so gentle and caring, a little too much so. I did find him one night though, on his way home from meeting his girl out by the fields. He never laid a hand on you again.

Speaking of meeting girls in the dead of night, it seemed everyone around us was pairing up. We were all around THAT age, I suppose. Except us, that is. We weren't ever interested all that much in other people, as we kept to ourselves. Didn't stop us wondering, though, what it'd be like when we got older and found our own spouses, and started our own families. Everyone else would have a leg up on us during courtship we thought. We had no experience relationship-wise whatsoever, and we convinced ourselves we'd be doomed to never have our own families. Unless we practiced, of course. I remember that day in the forest on one of my few days off. The heat of the sun barely blocked by the tree canopy, the sounds of the animals around us singing their songs of summer. That's when you said it. "We should practice kissing." I remember laughing so hard that I couldn't breathe. It had to be a joke, but your face was so serious. You almost looked hurt. I decided to humor you, and we kissed right then and there. It wasn't a ceremonious thing, mind you, just a little peck. A peck that set something beautiful and disastrous in motion.

At first we were so careful about it, our practicing. We would sneak off when no one would miss us and pretend to be a courting couple. Only it stopped being pretend very shortly. One too many kisses that lasted too long, one too many embraces were too tight. We knew what we were doing was insane, that this type of thing would never be allowed. But none of that stopped us. How could it? In that season of flaring passion, how could anything stop what we had started? Then we sealed our fate one evening. After a particularly passionate kiss under the midnight moon, you did it. You said, "I love you.", destroying any facade about this just being practice. I already knew it, somewhere in the back of my dense mind, I knew it. "I love you too, Sam."

People began to notice. You began missing lessons, and I began missing work. Always at the same time. We got looks whenever we were together. You could tell they knew, with their noses upturned as if they'd smelled something of offense. We started not to care after a while. By fall we were openly affectionate around everyone. It seemed as if our relationship made us bolder by the minute. It was inevitable, then, that we'd go too far. We'd made ourselves adults by winter, shedding the naivety of our earlier years, we were children no more. We practically glowed. So brightly that we didn't notice the growing darkness around us, around what we were. I was the happiest I'd ever be in my life. Sam, I loved you so. It's going to take a lot of mead to even begin writing what follows this part of our history.

Your eternal beloved, Braignir

Offline Dizzy

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Re: Braignir's Journal Entries
« Reply #2 on: February 11, 2016, 08:54:27 AM »
Dear, Sam

I don't even know how to begin. This cuts me deeper than any wound ever has, even the one that took my arm. I wanted to drink. Let the spirits dull this ache that worsens as I grow nearer to these words. But I cannot. The very thought of being drunk while chronicling our final moments disturbs me. As if I were defiling our memories. There's also something I need to let out. A demon that I have let fester inside of me as penance for my sins. With this letter, I twist the dagger that was placed in my heart. With this, I say goodbye.

As I said before, we went too far. It became common knowledge what we'd done. What we were doing. The people around us became enraged, but did not show it immediately. No, this fire that burned in them rose slowly, never showing itself as the raging inferno it would become. We couldn't see it. The instructors were still teaching you, and I could still find work, so it all seemed normal. We were too wrapped up in our own affairs to notice the seething hatred that was steadily growing. Plans to leave the town were made. That life we wanted was so close, Sam. It was right around the corner. It just so happens that even a corner was too far away.

Our plans made and our money saved, we were so happy. Then you became ill. You seemed to retch every morning, you had no strength during the day. You would get so angry at the smallest thing I did, and then turn around and tell me how much you loved me. You seemed to be in so much pain that I spent much of our money on a healer. The way he looked at me when he said you were fine should have said everything, but I was so blinded by your pain that I never noticed. "She's with child.", he said as he left hurriedly. My heart practically stopped. Only the sound of your voice revived me, as you inquired about what he said. I told you the news with the dumbest grin on my face, and watched as the same one spread across yours. How soon we had forgotten what we were, and what this meant.

Our boarding fees at the Orphanage suddenly shot up. It was taking everything I could muster to pay them and keep food in our mouths. Instructors were making any excuse they could to turn you away, practically ending your studies. Still we were happy, and that happiness was likely the greatest fuel to the burning hatred that surrounded us. That happiness and our child. It was time for them to DIRECTLY end our happiness, no matter what. When they struck, they struck deep.

An instructor finally agreed to take you in. You were so happy, I can still remember the dance you did when you told me. I worked even harder than usual that day, to make sure your lessons would be well paid for. It felt as though they just kept piling task after task on me at the farms, still I tore through the labor. I planned to see you off to your lesson. By the time I finished, I knew you had already left, so I ran into town to catch up to you. I was close to you when I found you, sprinting towards your tutor's home. I called out to you, watched you turn and see me. Watched you wave and bounce excitedly. Watched him come from the ally you had been sprinting towards. Watched him stab you. Watched him wound our unborn child. He ran off, I ran to you. The screams still echo into my nightmares. The blood still stains my hands.

You survived, but you fell ill. Truly ill, this time. The wound had been small, but it was precise. Our child was gone. I worked so hard. Not just to keep our beds, but to forget. I wanted to work myself to death to forget that scene. That murderer. Something about him seemed so familiar, but whenever I tried to remember, it slipped away. We were broken, but I pretended we were not. I smiled at you everyday and told you to be thankful for your life. I told you how thankful I was for your life. In time you seemed to be getting better, emotionally and physically. We talked about the future again. We planned. It was as if we were slitting our own throats.

It was another long day on the farms. It felt like I was doing the work of ten men. That's when it hit me. It felt just as it did when you were...I ran. I ran so hard and so fast, I tried so hard to reach you. But it mattered not. When I got to our beds, you were gone. No one knew where you were. That's what they said anyway. Rumors began spreading that you'd taken your life, that you were distraught over what had happened to you. I almost believed them. I almost took my life to meet you. But they fucked it up. They saw my despair, and they moved in for the kill. They went too far. Someone claimed that you said it was my fault. That if only I hadn't been an elf, you'd have been happy. They said you called me "Knife-Ear". Sam. Sam, you have NEVER uttered that name.

They'd killed you. Taken you from me, taken everything from me. I began taking them. I would wait near Lover's Meadow and kidnap whoever showed up. I would ask them for the truth and, if their answer didn't satisfy me, I tortured and killed them. It was my 11th victim, a guard sent to investigate the disappearances, that finally had something interesting to say. He told me how they abducted you, how they killed you because you were so damn resilient. Told me how they disposed of your body, denying you a burial. I don't remember how he died, I don't remember how any of them died. Everything went red. I had snapped. My only memory of that night was when I stood in the burning Orphanage, at our beds. I had planned to die there, where we once slept. But I saw a woman outside, running for the forest. She never made it.

The next day it poured down rain, as if the sky wept for all the lost souls. I didn't spare one. Not a single human was left there. In the wake of it all, I was sickened by myself. Sure, there were the conspirators. Sure, THEY deserved to die. But there were so many more than just them. There were innocent lives ended that night. I didn't want to live with myself, but I didn't want to die either. I didn't want them to win, even in death. The life I lived was all out of spite. I only drew breath so that the ones who took you from me could never win. But that spite has run its course. I know what I did isn't what you would have wanted, I know you would have looked at me in disgust. So what right have I to be spiteful? Maybe it's time for me to die. I'm not living in spite anymore. I'm just living. I made a...friend. I met someone I could call friend. That's something I don't feel I deserve, not after what I've done. Not after who I've become.

I hope to see you when I die, Sam. That's all I want.