Wednesday, July 16, 2008

A Response to Peter

My heart, torn asunder by your departure, was sutured whole by the whispers of your ink-pen. Alas, the world has grown too cold by far for such kindred souls as ours. I'll warm thee with a most generous response.

I have taken residence at the inn of Shivellgrass manor, just 40 miles south of Macon. Mrs. Shivellgrass has taken the demeanor of a widow, I'm afraid, mucking about the panises and daisies with the shuffle of one suffering from consumption.

Of course, one wonders well whether Mr. Shivellgrass will return. The armies are nigh defeated, and his latest post is long overdue. As for me, I am in recovery, not only for the pox, but from a most fierce dysentery. I tell thee true, it was as though Robert E. Lee himself rallied the calvary within my inner morsels. To date, though I fancy myself recovered, my bowels run faster and warmer than most, moistening the bowl like a spring storm.

Oh, how I miss the days before this damned war, before the petty grievances of man did carve in twain the deeper joys of our pairing. Those days in the field, the moonlight, opiating our senses as you ravishes your charms into my supple flesh under the watchful eye of silent stars.

Oh that I could ask those stars to reveal their secrets, to remind me that I am human beneath the foggy hiss of war and illness. Alas, I swear I will return to you, if only to nuzzle my visage into the intracacies of your gaping maw.

You asked of Carl. At the age of 11, Carl was placed under Joseph Hooker's command, where he died immediately at the Battle of Lookout Mountain. I fear he was too young for a man's war. I regret ever forging his documentation. I have enclosed a lock of his hair and his left thumb, so that you will always remember your son.

But I must make haste. The clock strikes two and twenty, and Ms. Shivelgrass shall be at her rifles again if I am seen in her parlor. Hello, then, is goodbye, in this bitter sliver of time. If only I could force my quill to refrain from such profligate descriptors, I could find time to dispense much relevant information.

Yours, now and always,

Richard T. Rybak

P.S. Send smokes.


Anonymous peter said...

"To date, though I fancy myself recovered, my bowels run faster and warmer than most, moistening the bowl like a spring storm."

This made me laugh out loud for almost a minute.

8:16 AM  
Anonymous Jon D said...

I am in awe of your mad writing skillz. That was hilarious; Bravo!

10:25 AM  
Blogger Roger said...

I'm with Peter.

Just not in the same way you're with Peter...

5:49 AM  

Post a Comment

<< Home