Edwin Seabeck is a killer in potentia (elusive_control) wrote in invol_journals, @ 2013-01-04 15:53:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! plot: kidnapping, edwin seabeck |
[Handwritten, Scanned to IVI email, folded and put into pocket]
Marine 1/4/13
I think you'd find it somewhat gratifying to know that I thought of you as the Cheshire cat. Wide smile in the dark, deviod of body, full of haunting knowledge. I admired you terribly, from afar. I used to have Shar burn the audio from your Young Vols show into little podcasts and it was a touchstone, somewhat. Maybe no one every told you that, but they were a comfort back when the only Vol I'd ever known was the bloke in the mirror. Somewhere out there, in places I would never go, were people I would never see trying to sort out how to put lives together in this hostile world. That is what good journalism does, I guess. Bring people together in ways they might not have otherwise.
She told me that you did a story on me. It was after the evidence had been tidied up and the official explanation read out, and you called it a travesty that all ills of the world should be blamed on Vols as if there were no disasters, no unfortunate happenstances before Vols. We were the source of all destruction and evil. Granted, I found out about this two weeks ago and honestly, I don't think I can much bear the thought of watching a piece of my life be narrated and hoisted up for dissection, so this one episode may stay lost to me forever. I now wonder if, having met me, you made the connection anyway.
Because, while I admired you, I also feared your powers terribly. I won't say that I've never had good dreams, but they are rare. More often the more colourful parts of my past are re-run in altered shapes, traumas that always seek to be processsed but permanently stay afixed in queue, unable to retire into the deep kernels of memory. I seek to conceal so much and I thought you would so easily pry, your journalistic mind would split me open like an oyster and then I'd have to deal with a reality that I was unprepared to face.
Not that I think I'm terribly prepared to face it now, but maybe a bit better.
Maybe out of everyone I've known here, it would have bothered you the least because you were the one person that legitimately saw beauty in every ability. Using the word 'beauty' is cliche, but I think you saw things in a wider array of shades than most. Like a photographer finding a rainbow in the light off the gutter. Something felt from wonder rather than from power or pride. Something skybound.
I hope that your powers transcend death. That you're fluttering from dream to dream, like some pixie comet shooting from mind to mind, following the dark to illuminate it. That whenever your friends dream of you, they aren't quite sure whether or not you're some mental facsimile or the real thing, cheekily visiting them, preferring such a free-floating existence to being corraled by blood and flesh. It's a nice thought.