In this series, I will take the Word of the Day from Dictionary.com and craft a short piece of creative writing around it. My goal is to embrace the meaning of the word in some unique way, all the while trying out different styles, rhythms and characterizations. It is as much an exercise in creativity as it is an exploration of grammar. Enjoy!
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THE COMBINED FOURTH, FIFTH, SIXTH AND SEVENTH ENTRIES IN THE #31SHIVERS SERIES LEADING UP TO HALLOWEEN 2014
By Alex Seise
My darling Annette, there is something you must know.
Foremost and of greater importance than all other sentiments ravaging my heart combined, you must comprehend these three words written thrice in the ink of my own blood: I love you, I love you, I love you. I always have, and I always will, from now until the cold, stony eternity that awaits my being. You are the anchor and sails to the vessel known as my soul, the pericardium that holds my still-beating heart. Dearest Annette, I would rather have had my eyes plucked mercilessly by savage boobooks a thousand times over than live a sighted life never having known the azure tint of your succulent wide-brimmed irises.
Annette, I do not leave this life as a result of the amorous desires we shared, but rather, in spite of your loveliest affections over the years. My captors lack the decency of those bearing the marks of Adam or Eve; they are no kinder than the black, toothy devils that ravage cracked bones on the shores and jungles of distant Tasmania. The language they speak is that same tongue crafted by the brimstone-throned Devil himself, and I fear the marvelous torture they invariably must plan for me this evening.
Oh, sweetest Annette. Never forget the kisses we shared or the embraces we held on the somber green moors of your family’s estate. You shall have other loves, of this I am certain for you are young as the dew and more beautiful than the roses along the harbor-side dunes; but in my honor and memory, never tutoyer the suitors who desire your charms until you are certain that they are the catalysts setting your pulse into the most rapid, unrelenting spasms of desire. For me, please, my love.
Alas, my time grows short and I fear you may wonder two things. First, what sordid end do my captors plan for me, your faithfully betrothed? From what I have gathered, which is, sadly, not terribly much, they plan to force me to drink of a goblet crafted in the scooping slope of a human skull. The vessel is no more gruesome than the poison it holds, a potent mix of azoth and crushed minerals and herbs from the forests and seas. They have shown me the horrors that the deathly potion inflicts, and I must confess, Annette: I am fearful. The elixir transforms the skins and muscles of the body to stone, though not before the shape of the face disfigures into that of a most morbid winged monster with demonic horns and nasty gnarled teeth. Take heart, though; I shall grace the edifice of some great steeple, if their terribly articulated claims bear any semblance to the actuality of my future position.
Secondly, love of my life and moon of my evening skies, you must wonder how I ever so fortunately came upon a treasure of tanned, crisp parchment here in the deep, black jungle of the north. Sadly, the region yearns for access to reedy pulp rolls; though the flesh of the skin off my worn, supple thighs is less scarce, particularly when stretched and dried in the searing heat of the overhead sun. The pain was tremendous, though no worse than the separation of our bodies as I departed on this ill-fated sojourn.
Take this part of me, Annette, as a token of the dedication of both my body and soul, and know that it is love which consumes my mind in these final hours of life. Love, undying, for you and you alone, not for the dermis which I have lost nor the existence that I will soon shed.
With affections deeper than flesh, dearest Annette,
-Your beloved Luc Ignacio Fer