Ghost WriterHe was sitting there, writing his story still.It was sad, the way that there was never enough written and he would be here forever writing. Writing his last letter to his wife, the one that was never sent.She had died a few years later, lingering and broken hearted, unable to deal with the way she had never heard back from her long lost husband.She had never known he was dead. But out of love for her, he had lingered to try and send her a letter.And now there was no way for him to join her.
Collector of Jewels“My lord, your father,” the advisor began.“Enough!” Ar-Zimrathôn turned from the window, where he had been polishing a jewel, and looked at his advisor. “Perhaps my father was out of his mind when he chose his name, or perhaps he was influenced by some ill spirit. Perhaps he even lies now cursed by Eru for his choice of a name. But he was my father.”“So you will repeat his mistakes? I have been your friend since you were a boy, and I don’t want to see you doomed.”“I will not be doomed. What can they do to us for refusing to use the elves’ language? It will be fine. Anyways, I will use one of their names too. Tar-Hostamir, isn’t it a lovely name?” He turned back to his jewel, which glittered red as the sun hit it.“Sarcasm does not suit you, though yes, “Collector of Jewels” is a good name in both languages for you.”“You’ve always been gifted with languages, my fri
How can I believe it?It was almost like they didn’t know they were dead.He was on the ground, eyes staring ahead, arm outstretched towards her.She was in her chair, head tilted forward towards her chest, as though she was merely sleeping.In the end, I think it was better that they went like that. It’s hard, of course, to see them so close together and know they’re dead. But when they don’t even look like they are - when they look like any second they might move again and embrace each other…It’s even harder. Because if they don’t know that they’re dead, how can I believe it?
They Say You Should Be AngryThey say that you should be angry at him. It comes up again, though not directly aimed at you, in classes, where you talk about Dante’s Hell and have to make guidelines on who goes to hell for class. They all agree that suicide is selfish, and those who do so belong in hell for that.You’re left screaming mentally that he never was selfish and they’re the selfish ones to try and claim heaven only for those who never had to experience mockery or managed to cope with what he did.Because he’s one of the few to ever see you as all of you, and not just the parts everyone focuses on. Everyone sees you as the sickly one, the person who can’t run fast or lift much and who gets dizzy and falls down the stairs too much. They also see you as the person who is supposed to always be smart and never make mistakes, the darling of teachers and professors, even though you don’t see it that way and want to scream that you’re more than that and you don’t w