A Letter.

And many a weary day had rolled away, when, at length, there came unto him a letter from his mother, which, in its wild and clamorous importunity, admitted of no other than a personal reply.

And she spoke of that which Chris had most dreaded to hear and that of her humorless desire to see him. And as he read the words, there arose in his cognizance a song of anguish, a mournful air that mingled with the song of his heart.

And he knew not whether to observe or to flee, for the song of anguish was strong, and the words inscribed upon the face of the letter were like daggers piercing through his soul. He arose from his bed, and with a jiggling step, he made his way towards the living room, where he hoped to find some solace and some reason.

But as he opened the door, he sighted a sight that stupefied his very soul. Maybe it was the ghastly countenances of the Kimmels or the shrilling wind that raged outdoors, maybe it was the portentous shadows that darkened the sky or the song of the sooner bygoners that the wind drag.

He moved with a heavy pace, feeling the burden of every step, and threw himself beside Ann.

Kimmel sat on the other settee, in the dimly lit room, The letter lay crumpled on the table between them, and now Kimmel placed a comforting hand on Chris's shoulder.

" My dear boy," Kimmel said, his voice low and soothing." I know this is a delicate time for you. But know that you aren't alone. I'm then for you."

Chris looked up at Kimmel with gash-filled eyes." How could this have happened?" he rumored.

Kimmel soughed." Death is a riddle that none can sound," he said." But we must find comfort in the recollections we've of those we've lost."

Chris jounced, gashes streaming down his cheeks. Kimmel pulled him into a grasp, holding him near as he wept.

In the murk of the room, a clock ticked down the seconds, marking the passage of time as Kimmel assured Chris in his grief.

As Chris sat in the caliginous room, assured by Kimmel, his mind wandered back to a memory from his history, a time before the letter changed everything.

In the mind's eye, he could see himself as a youthful boy, waking up one morning and going to find his father.

" Why up this early, gentleman?" His father had inquired.

" I worry to go to the ocean by your side, pop," Chris had replied.

" In this bitter cold wave?" His father had questioned.

" Pop, I long to feel that morning breath by the ocean," Chris had claimed.

" Cost your fleece also," his father had conceded.

So Chris ran to his chamber and brought his fleece and guitar. When his father saw him with the guitar, he'd kidded," Notoriety gon na play music to the fish."

They had walked to the sand and boarded a haul to where his father's boat had docked. It was loaded with fish and other foodstuffs for the South and was set to sail that night.

Chris had watched as his father gave instructions to the crew but ultimately grew sick and wandered off to a corner by the wharf where he coiled up and began to play his guitar. The meter of the ocean and its beats flowed through him, a heritage from his grandparents who were great musicians.

As he played, he lost himself in the music and did not indeed notice when his father sat down beside him. " May I?" His father had asked, waving to the guitar.

Chris handed it over and watched as his father played, delighting everyone on board. But something was burning inside Chris. Something he wanted to tell his father about , perhaps it was of a dream he'd had the previous night, but he could not bring himself to do it.

" Hey, how do I sound?" His father had asked as he finished playing. Chris was lost in study and did not respond until his father nudged him." Are you alright?" His father had asked with concern. Chris jounced and they left to head home. As they walked, his father's curiosity grew." Is there something you are not telling me, my son? I can see that everything isn't okay with you."

Chris plodded to come up with an answer. He was torn between telling the verity or running down from it. Eventually, he said,

" utmost of the time I sit to watch you play, my mind does wander."

The memory faded as Chris returned to the present moment, still sitting in the caliginous salon with Kimmel assuring him.

And so, the timepiece continued to tick, like a death knell in the cognizance of Chris, who wept plaintively in the solitariness of his chamber. He sought the grasp of sleep, but sleep fled from him as if mocking his despair.

He rose from his bed and dragged his sick body to the armchair, where his lute lay silent and neglected. Not only that, but he took it in his hands, and strummed its strings, hoping to soothe his worried soul with some melodious sound. But alas! The music that came forth was discordant and harsh, a reflection of his own anguish and horror.

He couldn't bear to hear it, and he slung the lute down, shattering it into pieces. He buried his face in his hands and wished for death to end his miseries.

And so after a fortnight Kimmel and Ann walked Chris to the jetties but as Chris followed Kimmel to the jetties where his boat awaited him, a tumultuous swell of feelings caught him. He was filled with gratefulness for his uncle's kindness and liberality, and as he took his last way towards the boat, Ann ran to him.

He embraced her passionately, and she rumored in his observance," Flashback not to suppose of her," with a wry smile twisting her lips.

And so, as Chris boarded the boat, a song began to play in his mind. It was a song he hadn't heard numerous times- the sweet air of the ocean, interwoven with recollections of his family. It was the song his father used to play on his guitar as they sailed together. And as the nights rolled by, Chris set up himself allowing further and further of his father. In the quiet of his chamber, he could see his father's face in his mind's eye, and fear and regrets filled him how could it have happen?