Red Skies: Heeelllo! Sorry about the break, I had ...uhhh...writer's... laziness...? anyway,
This is officially my chapter, so if you hate it, blame goes on me. That's Red Skies, aka Pret, and/or Philly.
Welcome to the second instalment of Goodbye, Mr. Kennedy By yours truly, and of course next chapter will come direct from the obscure brain of my dear friend, Blue Horizon aka, what-is-that and/or Mango Lord... hehe
I was listening to several dramatic and/or poignant songs (ie: the Rach 3, My Chemical Romance, Jose Gonzalez and K.D Lang.) while I wrote this, thus the depressing intro!
Onward! Huzzah!
Disclaimer: I don't have any money or a job -except as a recluse, which doesn't pay well- so don't sue me! Or my parents will have to pay
...actually …
...grins evilly...
they can afford it
No one has edited this, in fact, no one has even seen it - except for Blue Horizon, and she doesn't count, as her spelling is even worse than my own, sorry, darling, it's true! don't worry, your intelligence outstrips mine in every other way ;)- like Mozart's Marriage of Figaro, except notably less ingenious, although it has nearly killed me and driven me to drink...
Mainly because of Blue's constant nagging. To her future husband: good luck. You may not come out alive. :D
With each and every laboured breath, Archie Kennedy was slipping away.
Every painful heave of his chest dragged him closer to the edge of the abyss and every torturous gasp was like climbing a ladder towards an eternal light.
He was dying.
Archie himself was no stranger to loss. At many times in his life, his hopes had been dashed, and his spirit had been crushed
Just like the waves endlessly batter a ship in a storm, Archie had been shattered, over and over, thrown about in the wind, emerging a tattered and broken man.
It was a cruel God that only gave him the fulfilment he craved through a painful death and dishonour but it was worth the sacrifice.
God had given him the choice to either live out his last moments in guilt, and regret, in a destructive self-hatred, awaiting the end of his life in agony, knowing he- who could have made a difference- had lived a pointless, bitter life, or he could do this one, simple good deed.
He would have done it anyway. Sometimes it seemed like Horatio was the only person in the world who cared.
he could feel the life in his body waning, the angel of death was approaching, hovering at his side, circling ever closer like a buzzard, waiting for the chance to snatch away his soul.
Archie could not wait for the bitter-sweet relief of death.
after all, his whole life had been merely building up to this moment, this climax of his existence, this crucial point where he was more alive than ever, which was ironically moments before his downfall.
There was just one more thing to do.
Archie pulled out his writing apparatus.
My dear friend Horatio,
He wrote,
I write this on the brink of death, So close to falling down the chasm without an end, and I write because I would like you to know a little more about me and my past before I die…
If I hadn't been sent to the navy, I would currently be in my father's parlour, talking about mindless politics and drinking some atrociously expensive alcohol with various members of the nobility.
Do not mistake me, friend, have few regrets about joining the navy –although the decision was not mine- and would certainly not trade your friendship for that of the king's- I've met him, by the way, not a very nice man, he drinks too much, he eats to much and he's very vulgar-
But one of the few regrets I do have is not hearing more about your past and telling you about mine. So here it is…
I was born on an estate in the Scottish Countryside to Lord James and Lady Caroline Kennedy.
I am –was now, I suppose- the heir to my father's estate, and 11th from the throne.
Of course, I knew I would never reach the throne, but it was a title.
Yes, my friend, I am a noble, and I know your past experiences with those have been less than pleasant.
I have two older sisters, the one –Elizabeth- is a flighty, fun loving young thing, and although she is my father's favourite, she would never get the position of head of the family.
Apart from being a woman, she would have the estate crumbling to pieces in no time at all, thanks to her inclination to spend more time socialising with young men than concerning herself with the estate.
The other, Victoria, a much quieter girl, only a year older than myself, is sensible, intelligent, and apparently not nearly enthusiastic enough for the Ladyship.
I myself was –in all modesty- the logical choice for an heir, although I am the middle child, I am, according to my mother, A slightly less outgoing version of my father.
My two younger twin brothers, James and William, always made some derisive comment when Mama said this.
My father is one of the most well-loved Nobles in Britain, kind and generous, he was always willing to sit and drink with the 'commoners.' If my mother had not died, it is likely he would be doing the same thing now. Drinking and singing with his servants.
I adored my father for the man he was before his wife's death. And I have always admired his unfailing diplomacy, his ability to speak his mind, yet at the same time, keep the polite, humble mannerism that he seemed to have been born with.
He would take me to the harbour when we moved to London and tell me about all the different frigates, their captains, their men and their escapades.
I had always expressed a love for the navy -although my love for social nights and the theatre was much stronger -which is why, when my mother died after a long illness, my Great Aunty (the great malignant witch, we called her, much to my father's amused exasperation) convinced my father to have me sent away to the navy.
I was fifteen, and I was put on the Justinian for much the same reason as you:
Keane owed my father a great debt, and, aside from that, the son of one of my father's many noblemen friends was a midshipman on that channel beater.
Jack Simpson.
Yes, my friend, Jack Simpson.
One day, you may find out why he hated me so, but for now, the memory is too painful for me to recall.
Despite all the trials I have encountered in this lifetime, I feel like the sacrifice I made for you gave my life meaning.
So thank you.
Sincerely,
Your friend,
Archibald James Kennedy.
"there," Muttered Archie, setting down the letter, "the last step approaches."
YAY!
Thanks to Ash Phox for your support, and this fic will be manily focusing on Archie's past, but I think I can speak for my other half when I say we will be doing a bit of jumping back and forth between past and "present" - although it's not strictly the present
so, that gives you a bit of background, and just to clear it up:
Archie's mother died of a tumour -which makes the malignant comment a little twisted- and so Archie's great Aunt took over when the poor boy's father receded into depression.
This chapter was a brief outline of Archie's past, mainly so that Blue doesn't forget what we discussed while pacing the guest room in my grandparents' house by the ocean (okay, that sounds awesome, and it's all true! )
More on the details in the next few chapters, specifically:
Jack Simpson.
Archie's early encounters with him and whatever else Blue Horizon decides to add in.
Because now, this fic is out of my hands for a whole chapter!
Woot!
By the way, I will not be doing any review-whoring in my chapters, but it would be nice to recieve some constructive criticism.
No flames, and please please no snobby remarks about my grammar! I already know it sucks!
Ball's in your court, Blue Horizon!