"Letters"
by Acey
Disclaimer: Me still no own. You still no sue. Me think better stop typing broken English.
Wow! I never expected a review so soon! Thanks, Kelly! Well, here it is, chapter two.
She filtered through the stack before actually opening the letters, getting them in meticulous, chronological order. Too meticulous. It was almost like she was afraid to read what Gero had written to her. Odd, quite odd, for the woman hadn't ever displayed anything but coldness in relation to former classmates, at least, the ones she had told the cook about, saying things like "So-and-so was a bore, to say the least, pushed into college by his dear old daddy's money. I'll have you know that immediately after his father died and he took control of his business, the entire company flopped down to nothing. Money can't buy brains."
"Miss?"
"Cook?"
"Are you going to read them?"
The woman laughed a bit mockingly.
"That's what letters are for, aren't they, Cook?"
"Well, yes, but you don't seem to be reading them."
She glared.
"I will read them when I read them, in the privacy of my own room, thank you very much, Cook."
Scowling, the cook returned to setting the table as her mistress left the kitchen. ***********************
As soon as she was positive that the envelopes were in the correct order, she cautiously slid in the letter opener.
'What're you afraid of, silly girl?' she chided to herself. 'He didn't poison it, and besides, he wasn't ever interested in y--'
She forced herself to stop. Pulling back the knife-shaped opener, she turned the envelope and poured its contents on her bed.
It wasn't anything spectacular, but then there was only so much an envelope of normal size could hold. Just a few pieces of paper, folded carefully, written in Gero's supremely careful hand. When they were in college, she would constantly tease him about his handwriting, saying that it looked like he had memorized the old penmanship handbooks. Her own writing was terrible, another of those reasons she used a word processor for everything from formulas to inquiries.
There was nothing more she could do to delay it. She unfolded the papers and began to read. *************************
My dear _______ , January 6, 760
I realize you are on vacation at the moment; however, I am certain you will get these messages after your safe and speedy return. You've really done very well for yourself during this past nearly half of a century since we went our separate ways, achieving all that you strived to, and more in your chosen-- and my own chosen-- field. You have every right to be proud of yourself. I hope you continue to do so well.
I write to you because we are the last of the lone scientists. Discoveries are being made by companies now; if you don't believe it, just look at the Capsule Corporation what with its ten thousand employees and its monopolizing. Is there one person behind this operation? Not anymore, I'm afraid.
Well, you know the saying that "the Old Guard dies but never surrenders." We're the Old Guard now, and don't worry. We've got a few more years before our final submissions to the the corporate bigshots, and we rest in our graves. Our ways will die with us, unfortunately. You know it, and I know it. Unless-- but it's far to late for that idea of mine.
As you doubtless know, Red Ribbon crashed almost before I'd even started to build up a reputation therein. A certain ingrate by the name of Goku mutilated the entirety of the Army, the entirety of just about every aspect of the company, except me. Can you imagine the humiliation I felt when I found out of this? It upsets me even today, years later, that everything Red Ribbon ever was or could be was gone, gone because of some child. That's who did it, a twelve-year-old child. I publish this because my reputation as a scientist is no longer of any true importance to me. My career was over before it ever really began, and the irony of it is that I don't really care about it anymore. A reputation only lasts so long, anyway; a chance could make or break it. You made it; I broke it.
Don't fret; I'm not jealous of what you have accomplished, far from it. I have other matters to keep me busy nowadays, and the one thing I haven't lost since the destruction of the Red Ribbon Army by that little brat was my mind. There's still that, there will always be that much to console me, always.
But on to a different subject, before I close this letter to you, or before you, having better judgement than I do, throw this in the fire and call the authorities. You would be completely in the right to do so. I wouldn't blame you one iota. I'm still wanted for what I've done; I will be wanted for what I'm doing now, and you and everyone else on Earth know it. Turn me in, but let me finish.
You said once to me that every person has a price, do you still recall that? You said it in our shared Philosophy classroom, during the professor's lecture. I remember it.
"Would you kill someone," you said, "for ten zene?"
"No," I replied, distracted.
"How about ten million."
I paused before an answer in the negative, and you said,
"See? You hesitated. Every person has their price. People would do anything for a little more. More power. More money. More youth, more life. Sickening, isn't it, but that's what separates us from the animals we care for. Always, a man lusts for more."
Odd that it took me nearly fifty years to put that brilliant principal to use.
Until later , I remain,
Your old colleague,
Doctor Gero
******************* Acey: Hi! Well, you know what to do from here! *Man, do my fingers ache from this typing... carpal-tunnel syndrome, here I come.* =) Oh, well. The quote about the Old Guard was from "Gone with the Wind" (the book-- and yes, I did read it, and am probably one of the few people alive who didn't think it was boring). Just to clear that up, I don't own that epic.
Disclaimer: Me still no own. You still no sue. Me think better stop typing broken English.
Wow! I never expected a review so soon! Thanks, Kelly! Well, here it is, chapter two.
She filtered through the stack before actually opening the letters, getting them in meticulous, chronological order. Too meticulous. It was almost like she was afraid to read what Gero had written to her. Odd, quite odd, for the woman hadn't ever displayed anything but coldness in relation to former classmates, at least, the ones she had told the cook about, saying things like "So-and-so was a bore, to say the least, pushed into college by his dear old daddy's money. I'll have you know that immediately after his father died and he took control of his business, the entire company flopped down to nothing. Money can't buy brains."
"Miss?"
"Cook?"
"Are you going to read them?"
The woman laughed a bit mockingly.
"That's what letters are for, aren't they, Cook?"
"Well, yes, but you don't seem to be reading them."
She glared.
"I will read them when I read them, in the privacy of my own room, thank you very much, Cook."
Scowling, the cook returned to setting the table as her mistress left the kitchen. ***********************
As soon as she was positive that the envelopes were in the correct order, she cautiously slid in the letter opener.
'What're you afraid of, silly girl?' she chided to herself. 'He didn't poison it, and besides, he wasn't ever interested in y--'
She forced herself to stop. Pulling back the knife-shaped opener, she turned the envelope and poured its contents on her bed.
It wasn't anything spectacular, but then there was only so much an envelope of normal size could hold. Just a few pieces of paper, folded carefully, written in Gero's supremely careful hand. When they were in college, she would constantly tease him about his handwriting, saying that it looked like he had memorized the old penmanship handbooks. Her own writing was terrible, another of those reasons she used a word processor for everything from formulas to inquiries.
There was nothing more she could do to delay it. She unfolded the papers and began to read. *************************
My dear _______ , January 6, 760
I realize you are on vacation at the moment; however, I am certain you will get these messages after your safe and speedy return. You've really done very well for yourself during this past nearly half of a century since we went our separate ways, achieving all that you strived to, and more in your chosen-- and my own chosen-- field. You have every right to be proud of yourself. I hope you continue to do so well.
I write to you because we are the last of the lone scientists. Discoveries are being made by companies now; if you don't believe it, just look at the Capsule Corporation what with its ten thousand employees and its monopolizing. Is there one person behind this operation? Not anymore, I'm afraid.
Well, you know the saying that "the Old Guard dies but never surrenders." We're the Old Guard now, and don't worry. We've got a few more years before our final submissions to the the corporate bigshots, and we rest in our graves. Our ways will die with us, unfortunately. You know it, and I know it. Unless-- but it's far to late for that idea of mine.
As you doubtless know, Red Ribbon crashed almost before I'd even started to build up a reputation therein. A certain ingrate by the name of Goku mutilated the entirety of the Army, the entirety of just about every aspect of the company, except me. Can you imagine the humiliation I felt when I found out of this? It upsets me even today, years later, that everything Red Ribbon ever was or could be was gone, gone because of some child. That's who did it, a twelve-year-old child. I publish this because my reputation as a scientist is no longer of any true importance to me. My career was over before it ever really began, and the irony of it is that I don't really care about it anymore. A reputation only lasts so long, anyway; a chance could make or break it. You made it; I broke it.
Don't fret; I'm not jealous of what you have accomplished, far from it. I have other matters to keep me busy nowadays, and the one thing I haven't lost since the destruction of the Red Ribbon Army by that little brat was my mind. There's still that, there will always be that much to console me, always.
But on to a different subject, before I close this letter to you, or before you, having better judgement than I do, throw this in the fire and call the authorities. You would be completely in the right to do so. I wouldn't blame you one iota. I'm still wanted for what I've done; I will be wanted for what I'm doing now, and you and everyone else on Earth know it. Turn me in, but let me finish.
You said once to me that every person has a price, do you still recall that? You said it in our shared Philosophy classroom, during the professor's lecture. I remember it.
"Would you kill someone," you said, "for ten zene?"
"No," I replied, distracted.
"How about ten million."
I paused before an answer in the negative, and you said,
"See? You hesitated. Every person has their price. People would do anything for a little more. More power. More money. More youth, more life. Sickening, isn't it, but that's what separates us from the animals we care for. Always, a man lusts for more."
Odd that it took me nearly fifty years to put that brilliant principal to use.
Until later , I remain,
Your old colleague,
Doctor Gero
******************* Acey: Hi! Well, you know what to do from here! *Man, do my fingers ache from this typing... carpal-tunnel syndrome, here I come.* =) Oh, well. The quote about the Old Guard was from "Gone with the Wind" (the book-- and yes, I did read it, and am probably one of the few people alive who didn't think it was boring). Just to clear that up, I don't own that epic.