A Letter Soaked In Blood

1.)

What makes a man? It's a legitimate question. What makes us who we are and forces our hand upon the choices we make?

Which driving power forced me to do the awful things I did?

Oh, no. Here I go again, remembering my sins.

I cannot forget them - who could if their burdens were as great as the ones I carry?

No, no, shut up, shut up! You idiotic man, hold your tongue! This is weakness pervading your thoughts; don't let it get to you.

"Reverend Dimmesdale?" A voice pulls me out of my own headspace.

I turn, still kneeling, to see who has entered the church unannounced.

A young boy stands there, in the clothes of the children of the lower classes: a loose, long-sleeved, white shirt looking like a hand-me-down from an older brother and black slacks that descend only halfway down his calves, evidently too short.

I rise and meet the boy's nervous eyes with my own steady gaze. "Yes, child? How may I help you?"

"Governor Bellingham has requested your presence, Sir," the boy replies, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "He would like to speak with you immediately. It seems to be of the utmost importance."

"Alright," I mumble to myself, brushing some nonexistent dust from my clothes. "I shall go to see him at once. The hall?"

"Yes, sir." The boy quickly dips his head in respect and flees the church, long shirt flapping behind him.

I take my cloak from the coat rack and wrap it tightly around my shoulders, stepping outside. The day is warm, but I am chilled. This is not normal, I know, but it does not matter to me right now.

Hurrying to the hall, I make it there in ten minutes' time. A worker lets me in and I go straight to the negotiating room.

Governor Richard Bellingham sits behind the old, oak wood table, staring at a document. He looks up as I enter, a small smile breaking out on his face.

"Arthur, my old friend! Why, it's wonderful to see you! Won't you sit down and talk with me?" He stands and pulls out a chair for me. I walk over and sit to be polite, not bothering to un-cloak myself, which he surely must find a bit odd.

"Of course, Richard. Now, what is it you wanted to speak with me about?"

He reclaims his seat. "The rate of blasphemous crimes has very much increased in the city. I was wondering if you would know anything about that."

No. No, no, no, no, no. I cannot discuss this. Not here, not now. To do so would seal my fate and I would burn in the fires of hell!

Richard looks at me, concern written across his face. "There is suddenly no color in your face, my friend. Is something the matter?" He may be acting kindly, but I can tell that he is scrutinizing every inch of my body. "Oh, Arthur, you have not taken off your cloak. Why is that? Are you well?"

I sit up as straight as I can and look him straight in the eyes. "No. But I will live through it. I do hope you understand me."

He looks right back at me. "I understand fully well. And I hope that you know that I will be sending someone to you tonight. Go home, my friend. It will be more beneficial for you in this state."

"But, Richard - "

" - I said now!" He exclaims. "My friend, I'm only worried for you."

"You needn't be. I'll be alright."

That's the last thing I say before I feel my body hit something hard and my vision goes black.