Forget Me Not, Dear Child

 

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June 1^st , Indeterminate year

To My Dearest Jennifer,

The hunger ravaging my body is indescribable. It brings with it feelings that I had never known before. Somehow, as I sit here and write to you, my dear, I feel as if I am existing outside my body. My soul is leaving it, so I don’t have much time left. My fingers feel like mush, my eyes flutter at the sunlight, and the blood inside me stings my tongue. My skin is pricking with a thousand cuts and blisters that throb as flies hover around me like vultures circling a dying meal. I have been condemned to my fate by these trees, these tall trees that drew me in with their elegant, graceful, long trunks that now are prison bars hemming me in.

My bag of food has been empty for a few days now, and my water bottle is only worth a few gulps. Not enough to keep a man alive, but perhaps enough to give him a modicum of strength to write his last sentiments. I wouldn’t wish for you to see me like this, Jennifer, because I am a thin twig caught in the hair of a large monster, barely human, barely the father you knew.

My paper-thin skin is pale, my lips bloody and torn, my wounds stay bleeding and pulsing with pus, and I can now barely keep my eyes open. But for you, I am trying just to write this down, with the lovely pendant you got for me wrapped rightly inside my bony and ashy fingers.

As you will read from the final entries, it has been days since the previous update, and as you will read from the previous updates, it hasn’t been smooth sailing since I got here.

I wandered into these lands as a final resort, to find some ounce of optimism for our failed society back home, ravaged by disease, illness, and war.  I was not going to let you live the rest of your life in perpetual misery as I watched. I had to do something and step out of the house.

In my long walks, I stumbled upon this beautiful forest with trees so tall you could not see the sky. It was canopied with the towering Mountain Ash and Douglas-fir, carpeted with moss and thriving ferns, and I thought to myself, ‘This could be home!’

I wish you could see it – it's beautiful. Peaceful. Paradise on earth. A land on which fertility sparkles through every dew on the grass that twinkles in the yellow rising sun. I spent a week exploring this place, enjoying its beauty, the sweet smell of its trees, the whispering of the leaves and boughs, the sight of the sun rays filtering through the canopies, painting the area underneath shades of gold and orange; the beautiful bubbles of its brooks and streams of clear water, the color of its lilies and the golden shimmer of marigolds, the delicate scent of petrichor after the rain. Perfect. I wish I could make you smell the beauty around here.

But this place, my beloved, is a trap. I think it is. It is why I am perched at the top of this tree, dying – because I was unable to find my way out. Because it blinded me and let me get lost in its every shifting belly of beauty. I walked on endlessly, and with each step I took, each new direction I turned, with each dewy sparkle on the grass and each whisper of the broad leaves of the fig, the magic, almost all at once, drew me in, yet also seemed to swallow me whole. I was getting lost in the beauty, getting trapped in its warm, blanketing embrace that was slowly squeezing me in, like a warm duvet that slowly suffocates me.

The trails soon disappeared, and I found myself walking with no sense of direction. The tall trees, the lush grass, and the herbages all looked like mirror images of the previous tall trees, grass, and bushes. The crickets chirping, the frogs croaking, and the birds overhead all sounded the same.

What is this place? I asked myself. But I didn’t stop to recalibrate. I could not stop. I did not want to stop. I did not need to stop. How was I ever going to see you again if I were to stop in this ever-shifting mass of breathing, cackling trees and bushes that whispered ‘murder’ into my bleeding ears?

I stumbled upon a quiet brook bubbling faintly under the gently fanning trees, cooling me from the sun breaking in through gaps in the canopies, and leaned into the clear waters to quench my thirst.

And that’s when I heard them!

At first, a rustle no different from the wind playing about with the leaves.

But then, the leaves were not rustling. They were crunching. Twigs snapped as they would under heavy footsteps. And when the trees went still, and the birds and insects stopped singing as if on command, I could hear it – breathing.

Heavy breathing sounds.

A predator was after me!

Through all my time here, I had thought, nay, assumed, the place was uninhabited. I had not laid my eyes on a single animal since setting foot here. Even the insects that chirped and the birds that sang, I never saw them, just heard their songs.

So hearing the breathing from the bushes around had me stunned. My body trembled, and my heart thudded against my chest as if threatening to exit this earth and leave me alone to face this creature. I looked around. I was surrounded by the whispering ferns, blackjack bushes, thornbush trees, and rows of assorted bushes, all of which appeared to flutter at the periphery of my vision.

When I turned to look at the fluttering bush, it would stop, and the next bush at my periphery would start. And I would turn to it, and it too would stop, and the next bush to my periphery would begin. I did this diligently until all I could do was spin around trying to catch this shadow behind the bushes that was tormenting me just at the edge of my vision.

What did they want? Was I invading an inhabited land? I certainly didn’t look like it. The land was uninhabited as far as I was concerned. It had been nothing but trees, their medicinal scents, and the undergrowth and overgrowths all around me.

Then, one of the creatures revealed itself. Or at least, I saw its eyes. Through a gap in the Dog-Rose shrub, a pair of piercing blue eyes watched me. But these were not the eyes of a wild predator. Oh no. They were human-like in how they looked, glowing blue like two faint lamps in the dark.

I scampered to my feet, splashed into the bubbling brook, and emerged on the other side. I ran like a madman until I came to rest against a weary, weeping willow. I turned back and could not believe what I was seeing.

The creature had caught up.

Partially covered by the shrubbery down from where I had come, I caught a brief glimpse of him. It was nothing like the predator I had expected. It was a tall, bipedal, nude, and grey humanoid creature. I would say it stood at about seven feet tall, with pale, gaunt skin and disproportionally long, bony arms. It slipped back into the bushes as soon as I looked back at it, though I could see those piercing blue eyes watching me from the shrubs. It bore a striking resemblance to that small Barbiedoll knockoff I bought for you when you were three, whose hair you feverishly combed until it all fell off in a few months.

What on earth was that thing? Had I somehow wandered into an alien planet? Was I…was I – dead? I pinched myself just to feel something. My body felt real, alright. It felt as real as it could feel. But that thing, maybe that thing was the one that was not real. And so, I wiped down my face, cried out a few tears to wipe my eyes. When I looked up again, it was still there, as real as the trees around me and the thorns pricking my skin. It stood silently, watching me from behind the bushes with venomous eyes and a malicious stance.

I backpedaled from the creature, as the bushes fluttered as it moved through them at almost inhumane speed toward me. But I couldn’t keep backpedaling forever. I needed my legs to carry me and so, I turned and ran for dear life. As I ran, I glanced back and the first time, saw nothing. But I kept running anyway, skipping over dead, rotting trunks, bogs that threatened to pull me down, and dry grass that seemed to carry me faster.

The second time I glanced back, I could not believe my eyes. It felt like I was existing in a nightmare.

The tall, gaunt creature didn’t run. No, not at all. It did not even jog. No, not at all. All it did, my dear Jennifer, was walk. Yes. It was walking after me. But it was a strange walk. It floated through space with its steps, each footstep jittering and carrying it forward like a glitching image that kept rowing ever bigger. It was a sight that made me scream like a little child and cry for my mother like I was seven again.

I ran until my body could run no longer. I ran until I was coughing up blood, and my heart was carving my chest open with its ferocious thumps. I ran until my foot muscles were spasming nonstop and my thighs were on fire. I ran until the small of my back felt as though it was detaching from the rest of my body. I ran until a chasm opened up inside the pit of my stomach and seemed to be swallowing me from the inside.

I collapsed on the dry grass swarming with grasshoppers, gasping for air as I struggled to breathe and waited for death. As I lay there and looked at the canopy above my head, at the sun sparkling in a thousand different rays through the eaves, I thought, ‘How great it would have been to say goodbye to you.’ That was all I could think about, that I left you without even a kiss goodbye, because I had taken it for granted that I would make my way back to you, Jennifer. ‘A man can be stupid sometimes, but to die without good bye is idiocy. And I am an idiot, My Dear.’

But as I lay there, death still never came. In fact, the creature did not appear to me as intended. Curious, I sat up and saw that he was crouched a few meters away from me, partially obscured by a small tree shrubbery. He just watched me with that glazed, thousand-yard stare from his glassy blue eyes.

I now had a good look at him. Aside from his tall appearance and pale skin that was almost transparent, he had flowing locks of pitch-black hair in patches on his long, thin head. His lips were dry and crusty, terribly thin and crooked. He stood up, and I saw that he walked on the balls of his feet. His posture wasn’t threatening, for he didn’t even appear to want to harm me, but his entire presence was menacing. He looked down at me as a human stares down a cockroach before flattening it with a pair of slippers.

This was it, I thought, and closed my eyes, waiting for the sweet release of death even as I beat myself over and over again for not saying goodbye to you.

But still, he did not attack. I opened my eyes, and he had closed in on me, but still did not appear to want to do anything.

I stumbled to my feet and scampered onward. If he wasn't ready to kill me, then I wasn’t ready to die yet. I was lost, but I would not give in to death that easily if that was what he was waiting for. If he wanted me dead and didn’t want to kill me, then he would have to walk me to my death because I would not just slump down in defeat if I could help it. The thought of not seeing you again kept me going.

And so, I walked on, bleeding, each footprint taking a strength out of me and leaving it imprinted on the earth behind me. My eyes were hazy, my lips bled even as I wet them with saliva and the occasional water sips, but I trudged on, determined. He walked after me still, no longer hiding in the bushes now, but straight up just pursuing me like a shadow.

But the more I walked and the more I got lost, the more I began to feel my skin tingle and my body tremble inside. That feeling of being watched shifted from just one pair of eyes to several. I felt – surrounded. I began feeling as if, even the bushes to my side and ahead of me were also watching me. I could feel the crows of the trees also look down on me with these sharp, piercing blue eyes. Everything was watching me. The entire forest was this large being that had now trained all its eyes on me.

I listened intently and felt it. I could feel them. I felt them all. The one behind me was the only one visible; the others were walking alongside me in the bushes and closing in on me at an angle from the trees and shrubs. That was why the shrubs shifted endlessly, rustling on with a relentless chilling whisper of doom. That was why the trees' trunks creaked and groaned – they hid the horrors that waited to tear my body into tiny confetti of me. At least if they did, if they ripped me apart, I tried to assure myself, I would go out in a glorious, red shower of glory – skin, blood, bones, tissue, and all. Glory. Glorious. Red mist shimmering in the golden sun rays that filtered through the trees. Such beauty is hard to find!

There was no escape, and my legs were getting weaker and weaker with each step I took. But still I walked. Then, slowly, they began revealing themselves to me. At first, it was just one more joining the original stalker. But then, the next time I turned back, two more had joined him. Then there were three. Four. Five. And yet more still came. All of the floating through space. All of them nude and grey and pale. All of them with fine hair, flowing like water, in the wind. I never saw hair blow that freely to the wind before. It was, paradoxically, an enchanting sight, seeing the hair flutter in the wind with slow, gentle, hypnotizing, beautiful strokes.

They kept coming, seemingly knowing my every turn because they seemed to push me toward whatever direction I turned. But at no point did they attack. Oh no. No, they just walked after me, their dead eyes staring blankly at me, pushing me toward madness. Because what was worse than death if not getting stalked by creatures wearing human skin that seemed determined to walk you to your grave?

I willed myself to move faster. I had to find some respite, somehow. And after a long walk that left me barely hanging on for dear life, I came upon this lonely Sycamore tree standing forlorn in a clearing in the forest. It stands alone, surrounded by a small, beautiful wall of Forget-me-nots that tug at my beating heart with their delicate charm, almost beckoning me to lie in their midst.

I climbed it immediately, feeling my body giving out underneath me. I wanted to find a place where I could comfortably write my final words for you. I found a perfect spot where three boughs branched from the trunk, and this is where I made a home for myself for the past two nights. This is the third, and I figure it will be my last, which is why I willed myself to write you this farewell.

On the first night, I had hoped that when night would come, these creatures would give up and retire into the darkness. But night came, and the darkness was pitch black, with no moon and the stars missing, and I saw the pale blue eyes still watching me from the trees surrounding my Sycamore abode. I counted thirteen pairs of glowing, pale, blue eyes surrounding the tree. I was marooned.  They weren’t stalking me now, Jennifer. They were hemming me in, choking me in place, closing me inside their collective giant palm.

Sleep was hard to come by, not just because of the knowledge that I was being watched, but also because even when I managed a small wink, it was interrupted by the crunching of leaves and the wind howling in the trees. I couldn’t tell whether the crunching of leaves was footsteps from my tormentors or just the wind.

When daylight after the first night came, I hoped that they would leave, tired of waiting, but they stood still. On the second night, I noticed that the eyes were now much closer. Thirteen eyes still. And indeed, when the sun came up the following morning, they had inched closer. The fingers of this giant palm were closing in quickly. I could now feel it compress my chest and make breathing difficult. They were just a few yards away from me. As I write this, this is the third day, and the darkness is falling, and I can see now that they are so close to the tree that I can hear their faint breathing notes.

I do not think I will survive tonight, but if I do, I certainly will not survive tomorrow night, because they will surely be under the tree's crown. Even if they don’t rip me from my hiding place with their gnarly, long fingers tomorrow, my body is too weak, and I couldn’t possibly write tomorrow. My water is finished now. Just gulped down the final sip to give me an extra bit of strength to finish this letter. So this is my final entry, my dearest daughter.

I have in my hand this beautiful pendant you bought for me for my fiftieth birthday, which has been the source of strength for when I have wanted to give up, each touch of it a source of a brief pulse of hope straight into my heart. I am sobbing uncontrollably, knowing that this photo of you is the last I will ever see of you.

For a long time, this photo has been what kept me going, but I’m afraid it can keep me hopeful no longer.  There comes a time when even hope is not enough to keep a man going. At such a point, that man must immediately surrender to the forces, for a fight against them will be a fistfight with a perimeter wall – that is a fight no man, no matter the dog in him, will win. I am wasted, but know that I fought with every sinew and every nerve of my being. An imprecise fight with an enemy I did not know, but a fight nonetheless.

Thank you for making a good father out of me, Jennifer. Since your mother left us, I had doubts about whether I could do it, whether I could continue from where she left, but you made it very easy for me by making me a better man and by being an understanding daughter, troublesome on her day, but well-intentioned.

Thank you for the beautiful memories. The sight of you coming home with dirt from head to toe during your mischievous kindergarten and preparatory years still floods my memories like yesterday. The sight of the flowing locks of hair of my tormentors reminded me of your feverish obsession with combing yours. And my refusal to die just yet before I say goodbye reminds me of your defiance during your teenage years, where even through my frustrations with you, I still thought, ‘she is so much like me.’  

I now sit on this tree laughing at myself like a maniac, a laughter that very much is from our travels to the beaches of Zanzibar. The sound of thunder above the trees struck a raw nerve that took me back to getting caught in a storm at Bolton Abbey. It has been wonderful to have lived these twenty-odd years with you. Truly. If your mother were around, she would have been proud of the woman you have become - stubborn, loving, a lover of well-combed hair, and a warm bowl of charm and essence, just as she had been. It has been wonderful. Truly.

I wish I could have protected you from this collapse. I wish I could have done more to ensure that we wouldn’t be in this situation. More importantly, I wish I had been honest with you and told you what I was doing. At least then I would have had a chance to say goodbye.

But I also am filled with pride and will die in peace because I raised you strong to face such a catastrophe. I know that the Juman family will take care of you just as you will guide them through this difficult time. I grip tightly onto this pendant because I want to die with it firmly clasped in my hand, so that when these pale vagabonds get to my body, they will not reach it. I will float away in peace, knowing that I took a piece of you in my voyage to the afterlife.

I hope that you and everyone left continue on with hope for humanity. Tell them that the collapse might seem permanent, but throughout humanity, there have been people who have picked up the slack and continued the story.

My body is now too weak, so it is time to put down my pen and await my fate. I don’t even know where I will place this lett…Oh, hold…hold on. I see a tiny hole in this branch I am leaning against. I…I will put this letter inside this hole and maybe, just maybe, someone will find it. Maybe, just maybe, that person who finds it will be you.

I will forever love you, my daughter. Live and fight on!