September 1st
Good morning to you. It is quite early today. I have not as yet heard the cock crow and upon appearance at the dinner table the woman of the house was believably shocked. As if she had seen a long dead ghost. It may have surprised her that I had survived my hibernation but should not surprise the reader unless of course you have forgotten to pay attention. If this is the case however, please put this down until a time where your intelligence is beyond that of a kernel of corn. Honestly, I bore of you idiots. Just the thought of one reading my work causes me to cough and sneeze something grand. More so knowing that they are incapable, and when I say they I mean you. Yes you! You are unable to understand the most simplistic logic I could command with these lovely and delicate hands.
Let us backtrack again however, so that you may understand, if you had not followed earlier instructions which even a partial area of my brain could comprehend. Now let us continue. It is no wonder that this woman I spoke of earlier may be found surprised as most who would have been bed ridden usually reach death. I have at times gone to take time alone when things became too difficult. Which to them may be a surprise as they do not consider such things. Isolation it may seem at times is a wonderful thing. Although their doctors may have told of my coming days as they know nothing of modern medicine. I have found that if I rest for a time, I usually am able to return to normal. And yet beyond normal. An exponentially superior self. Again, I am able and willing bodied and must return to the work that has been pressed upon me. It is guaranteed that as I slept, the work must have doubled and even tripled without my tired hands and should all be done by the end of the day. Midas must be angered upon my presence on this earth for even now I shall be like a god by the touch of these golden hands.
It was again a day as I have heard that they wished to go hunting, and I decided I would try my hand at such a task. It is not for me to stay within a place that others may succeed, or in areas that I have not bettered them. So, in my haste, I choose to not carry any weapon except that of a sharpened scythe which I retrieved within the shed. Upon my arrival, most of these brutes were perplexed as to why I should bring such and such a weapon. As seeing their stupidity, I decided to give them words. And by words, I mean deliverance from their senselessness. I spoke to them of their cowardice of fighting such creatures with such a deadly and spineless weapon. They laughed at me however, believing it was all in sport. That being said I will not and will never agree with their barbaric practices. A hunter should have some skill and there is no skill in their partaking, these cowardly miscreants.
My grandfather accompanied us and told that if it were for me to use such a tool for hunting than I would go first. I thanked him of course and we were on our way. It was in no way difficult for these hounds that I spoke of to find again these ruffians. They seemed to congregate to the place they were killed before to my disliking, as I found it would be simple to cause such creatures to die out entirely. If only the same could be said of these fools. It was not much for these spiritless, idle-brained mongrels to use their weapons and these foxes to find a swift defeat. As they skinned again these creatures, I felt that awful feeling that I once felt the day before. As I watched these ogres tear the flesh from sweet Puffins. To my dismay a consistent memory that was unsure, but made clear, seemed to reappear and did not leave at once like in past times. I fell to the floor as if dead as I was told. When I awoke, my grandfather thought the sight of blood had caused my symptoms but it was not so. It was not so at all. I lost them. I would never find my loves again. I shall again leave this memory. I shall again leave this place as there is no safety in such thoughts. I would rather die than see this again. Allow me to sleep one last time and awake in peace.
YOU ARE READING
How To Survive In A Dump: The Diary of Mr. Thaddeus
FantasyHis name is Mr. Thaddeus. A young man born into wealth and prestige writes of his experiences with those who now serve under him from his own unique perspective. One that he speaks on the greatness of his own estate and himself. That is until a ver...
