by AZARAD
by AZARAD
FEEDBACK to AZARAD
Holiday Depression at its worst...
December twenty-fourth, four months and six days since I lost Archie. His
murderer is dead, but I've discovered that revenge is no substitute for the
warmth of friendship. I have no one now, my age and rank, for company.
"Coome down, sir! Ye'll catch yer death oop there in the crosstrees."
"I'm fine, Matthews. I'm not the least bit cold." Not as cold as I'd like to
be. Not as cold as you are, Arch, in a watery grave or worse yet, dead in a
damned French prison. No word. Not one bit of news. Inhuman French bastards.
Why can't they exchange officers like civilized men.
>From here, I could reach the stars of Heaven, it seems. And there they are
again, mirrored in the calm waters below. I remember my first hours moored at
Spithead. Archie, you were so cheerful. Henry Clayton was ever so kind too. I
shall write to Henry. If anyone can shake the diplomats it will be Henry. He
loved you too, Arch.
Oh Archie! Why did I have to hit you so hard? Can you forgive me? If you are
in Heaven, send me a sign of forgiveness! What? A falling star? You are with
God! And, I will never see you again. I can't bear living, Archie. I can't
bear it any longer.
"Mr. Hornblower! Come down at once, do you hear? It would give me great
pleasure if you would join us in my cabin for a toast to the Christ Child."
"Aye, sir. I'm on my way." The Captain's calling me, Arch. He's waiting for
me. I'll speak with you again in my cabin. Please, you are the only one who
knows my heart. Send another sign if you can. I can't bear this loneliness...
"Mr. Hornblower, at once, if you please!"
"Aye, Aye, sir!"
THE END
