A Serenade For The Innocent 18 Second Envelope

If you're reading this letter, know that I am happy you decided to bear with me and my bizarre tale relating to the causes of my demise. Again, this is not my attempt to seek absolution or to find a place in your heart to give me pity.

At the very moment, I was writing the contents of this envelope; I have already started hearing whisper and screams of the people whom I worked with; their spirits are howling at me, saying how I should let the water consume me as well and follow them to the depths of a primordial death.

I am sure you already know that my comrades and I had taken with us a rather curious contraband containing somewhat hypnotic gallons of water enclosed by a stone lid. The lid itself was engraved with curious images I could only describe as somewhat similar to those of the ancient Egyptian letters. However, there is something different and rather odd about them causing me to believe that they may be nothing like any known ancient letters I have seen. I do not even believe they are entirely human. They looked demonic, maniacal; I could not describe the images wholeheartedly for I simply cannot understand them at all. Sometimes I would see the images of animals, but after careful deliberation, I would scratch the thought and come up with different other interpretations pertaining to the imageries existing upon the said cursed stone lid. On the many sides of the rectangular-shaped stone lid are intricate other familiar letters that I thought were of Arabian origin for, after all, the letters had a similar way it was written; the way the letters swayed like a children's doodle, I dare say. It looked somehow Asian-looking, but not entirely so; my knowledge of graphology and the alphabet of overseas people are very limited and to be quite frank, I am not interested in such boring topics. All I know is that the lid itself contained languages that seemed familiar to me at first glance only to realize soon that they are completely foreign to my eyes.

All I know is that the lid itself contained a power I cannot explain, a power I dare not understand. I wish to look at the stone lid. I wanted to touch it and caress its rough textures. I have an urge to look at the letters embedded in it repeatedly. I crave to understand the secrets hidden within those cryptic images. I wanted it. I want it. I will continue wanting it.

My co-conspirators and I walked towards our hideout near the river with grins and wide smiles painted all over our faces. The sound of our snickers permeated throughout the forest, running alongside the whispers of the mountain breeze.

Kuh kuh kuh kuh we would laugh; hue hue hue hue, we would cackle as we carry the heavy contraband with our puny hands, but we are more than willing to do so. One could see it in the wideness of our grins. Our yellowish and darkened teeth revealed itself upon the spirits lurking within the shadows of the night like a blackened beacon illuminating the darkened s.p.a.ces beneath the canopies.

Behind us is the only man in our circle who is not convinced with the power of the water or perhaps he was just unaffected by it, but it's all too late to know now. All I could understand is that he loathed the idea of bringing the d.a.m.ned contraband with us from the very beginning. I hope we had listened to him now that I have the time to reflect on it, but we are too hypnotized and too dumb to even comprehend the very simple things he was trying to convey upon our thick heads.

He simply does not understand why we are taking the water with us, and I, too, do not understand why. Mother, I just don't know anymore what I am doing with my life. I felt like I have no control of myself; I was so out of touch with the world. It's as if the demons from within that cursed water had invaded my spirit. Now, I am falling towards eternal d.a.m.nation.

When we've finally arrived at our hideout, we were still smiling from one ear to another, talking to ourselves how wonderful it is that we had discovered the water. Unknown to us why we felt so euphoric, but we know that we cannot contain our happiness except for that one man who had always been indignant of this idea. We scorned him from the bottom of our hearts around those times. If he doesn't understand why we are celebrating on finding the water, we, on the other hand, do not understand why he's not jumping for joy like the rest of us. We tried to tease him, thinking he's probably jesting with us like we always do, but no, mother, the man is serious. He does not understand, and if I'm being honest, I do not understand the reasoning behind my actions as well. All I know is I was happy and I was upset that he's not as happy as I was. Needless to say, all of us ignored him as we looked and caressed and a.n.a.lyzed the stone lid covering our prized water.

After a while of admiring the lid and its intricate motifs, one of us started complaining about how he was so drenched and that his throat had been dry for a while now. He asked one of us to get him some water while he continued to touch and admire the stone lid. Of course, none of us wanted to follow his commands for none of us is his slave. Most importantly, all of us wanted to wors.h.i.+p the strange greatness of the stone just as much as he did. We were just too hooked and too stupid to even think of stepping a few inches away from the stone.

We loved the stone, and we loved the water it contained even more.

Before long, the man complained once again pertaining to the extremeness of his thirst, but none of us was still willing to stand up and take a gla.s.s for him. This resulted in a rather nasty argument that would easily turn into a brawl in a few minutes, but none of us wanted to take our fingers off the stone. Thus, instead of punching and kicking one another like we would always do, we simply screamed at each other as loud as humanly possible, creating a crescendo of curses and loud bickering booming together to form one incomprehensible symphony.

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Thankfully, our argument ended quickly when our comrade whom we were so adamant to ignore earlier that night finally placed a pitcher of warm water beside the man who had ratted about his thirst nonstop. I admit that we started to warm up to the man again, but we were still clueless as to why he couldn't join us to direct his full reverence towards the contraband too.

He humored our request for a bit and touched the stone for a few seconds before pulling his hands off of it in just a matter of seconds. He shrieked with all the hair on his body standing still as if a spark of electricity had coursed through his body and ventured through all the nerves beneath his skin, making him take a step back. Again, we thought he was only joking, but when we saw the utter disgust written all over his face, we knew that something was not right with him. We didn't stand up nor did we take our hands off the stone lid, but we still showed concern to our friend by asking him why he looked as if he had touched the most obnoxious thing in the whole wide world.

To which he replied by saying that he did just touched something so utterly revolting that he couldn't stop the repulsion from tainting his mind with the images of the devil himself. He pointed at the contraband and proclaimed that the water is an accursed work of Satan and that it is an insult to the Lord. I do admit, mother, that I found his remark as something of an over-exaggerated condemnation; he even added many other insults by calling the contraband several blasphemous names that I just couldn't recall anymore now, but all that you need to know is that I believe him now. I am certain that the words he used to describe the accursed water by the time he had a few seconds of contact with its stone lid are true. The water is not just the work of the devil; it is the devil itself. How foolish of me to not see that then; how foolish of us to not believe the words of our friend when we could have just stopped wasting our precious time showering our adoration to the lull of the evil spirit.

The powers lurking within the contraband engulfed my sense, but even in that state, I still found it odd how he reacted that way. I wanted to approach him and ask what's troubling him, but, as you may have already guessed by now, mother, I decided not to pry on his troubles and marveled upon the stone lid once more. With a grin on our faces, some of us even have their drools rolling out of their mouths, the skeptical man who brandished the contraband as an accursed artifact of the devil fled far from us, but he refused to leave our hideout. Needless to say, we all stayed inside our cabin for the rest of the night; some of us on our knees touching the stone, one of us at the corner, shaking at the thought of even looking at us.

After a while, my gang member who earlier complained about his thirst finally took the pitcher beside him, temporarily removing his hands off the stone lid. That was when he snapped his fingers as if to show that he had come up with a brilliant idea.

It was a brilliant idea, indeed! At least at the time…

He said that perhaps it would be a great idea for him to drink the revered water lying calmly within the contraband instead of some lowly alternative referring to the one in the wooden pitcher beside him. Thus, without even giving us time to think of what he had just said, he started pus.h.i.+ng the lid off the contraband. However, he was not strong enough to remove the stone lid off the wooden container. After a while, we all started to feel excited about the prospect of seeing the water once again, but none of us thought of drinking the water beside our parched fellow. Our priorities may not be the same as him, but we all wanted the same thing: to unravel the water once more. Therefore, without another word from any of us, we started to help the man push the lid off the contraband.

A few moments pa.s.sed and the lid finally slid off of its container and fell to the ground. We gasped. There it was, the water. Without a hint of remorse, my thirsty companion soaked a cup into the surface of the water and drank from it ever so slowly with eyes wide open, not letting a single drop escape from his lips, swallowing it all till the very last drop. With one final gulp, we stared at him with awe as he told us with great excitement written all over his face how the water was perhaps the most delicious liquid that ever graced her tongue. He said it was as if it was a drop of dew straight from the spring of the G.o.ds!

Moved by his words, another one took the cup from his hand and scooped an entire gla.s.s of water from the contraband, completely soaking his hand in the process, before drinking the entire gla.s.s in one gulp. He then exclaimed the same praises, saying that the water tastes like a mixture of honey and wine with a tinge of berries and an unknown flavor he couldn't quite understand.

They both kept spouting praises upon praises to revel in the greatness of the water's taste until one of them stopped. The first one to drink the water went down on his knees with his eyes bulging out of his eye sockets as he grabbed his stomach firmly. He started to cough until blood jumped out of his mouth. The other man who drank the water started to cough slowly too as his complexion started to turn pale. He then fell on the ground as well, landing on his back, coughing and gagging. It was unlike anything we have ever seen.

It's as if poison had coursed through their system, but if that were the case, their mouths should start bubbling by then or their veins should start popping into a purple shade or perhaps their eyes should start darting a crimson glow. At least that's the effect of the poisons I know. However, none of those said effects happened to them; they all just started coughing blood while they writhed to the ground as if their insides were being eaten by maggots or perhaps a certain bacterium had invaded their stomachs and now their bellies are becoming a hive to breed their offspring. I scratched that thought right away for those would take a long time to take effect. They started to suffer the agony they got themselves in seconds after they drank the water.

I immediately went to their aid, trying my hardest to scream and ask what the problem was. None of them were in the right mindset to reply, not because of the sufferings they had to endure but because… They were in a complete state of great happiness.

They were grinning, unable to speak, but they seemed to be trying their hardest to laugh. They wanted to speak, but their pain kept them from doing so. It's as if even in the doorstep of death, they were still adamant in praising the water.

My comrade who was hiding from us at the corner finally opened his mouth after a long while of silence. Only after a few hours, his face already looked as if he suffered the stress of a decade. He pointed at the writhing men on the ground while screaming the words demon, devil, and Satan over and over as if his mind had finally collapsed due to his righteous faith to the Lord. However, he's not so wrong although he's starting to spout some insane nonsense as well.

Perhaps, the water is the work of the devil. Perhaps it was not safe to bring it here with us all along. I started to shout an order to the others to help our ill comrades before it's too late, but none of them were willing to help. They all just sat there, looking at the calm water, reveling in the greatness it possesses. I shouted, and I yelled, mother, but none of them wanted to help. They just remained there with eyes wide-opened, never closing it even for a brief second while directing their focus to the water. I screamed at them from the top of my lungs while the coughing and gagging noises of my two comrades weakened, but their grins were just as wide as ever.

In a few moments, they died.

My comrades at the water were still gazing at the water, their faces were now just a few inches away from the surface of the water as if they wanted to scrutinize it with their own eyes no matter what. I started to notice that their eyes were reddening and drops of tears were falling from their eyes, but none of them wished to stop.

Forgive me, mother, if I have told something so grim and depressing in such a long letter. I'm sure you're tired after reading this. If you wish not to believe me, that is fine. You may burn the letters now and forget you've ever known my story had ever existed. Rip the third envelope if you wish, even I too would not put up with the story of an ungrateful son like me. The story will not… Get any better after this, I'm afraid. I'm sorry, mother, truly, I am. I just wish to inform you with all the honesty and all the sincerity I can give you as your son, but if you think my story is too unbelievable for you then please, burn my letters and forget about a disgrace like me.

I will not hold it against you.

I love you, mother.

I am so afraid; I am so, so afraid, mother. I miss you. I miss your voice. I miss our home. I miss your cooking. Maybe you're right, mother. Maybe my dreams are the dreams of a madman. Maybe I am a madman, but know that I always think of you, mother. I hope you are well. I hope you're not suffering because of me. I hope you will find a place in your heart to believe in the words I am about to write to you, mother.

There's something in the water, mother, and I do not feel safe.