The Gift

Dear Mister Rook

Snow blankets concealed the Rook's lawn, hiding away the unkept, October leaves that scattered in every direction. The morning air strung at Matthew Rook's vulnerable face, flaring a burning color within his cheeks as he pulled his jacket closer to his body to calm the trembling. His feet dragged him begrudgingly across the slippery, ice ensnared concrete and over to the mailbox, which was drenched in snow as well. It looked as though the box itself would snap completely off the post if Matthew had accidentally brushed his hand against it the wrong way. One swipe to the right and...

Whack!

Matthew's head turned as a snap broke through his thoughts and branded the noise into his ears. His eyes raced to notice the big maple tree that had resided peacefully next to his home for twenty years had now lost a branch. It was the size that, had Matthew slipped by some coincidence of an ever cruel universe, it was possible that he would have been murdered by a tree branch because his clumsiness stalled his journey and had caused his ever approaching demise. But by some miracle of convenance, his boots beat the friction and he managed to smoothly make his way over to safety. 

In this moment he had questioned whether or not he had wanted to be saved by the coincidences of the universe, as far as he knew another version of him was dead. 

Or was eating a unique dish near the equator where the damn cold wasn't stinging his bare flesh and forcing his body to go into a trembling panic. But he didn't really care to know. He just knew that he was still suffering in the cold. And he just wanted to go back inside to the bickering of his parents as the mere idea of him being rejected from college after college was something that would ruin their lives and not his. He much preferred the screaming and rage to the punctures of freezing cold temperatures. It wasn't as if he was already rejected, he just knew within the cynical mind of his that he was going to be accepted. He hadn't many activities outside of school, his grades were poor due to procrastination and his utter careless personality, but not to mention the essays. Oh, the essays would seal the deal on his horribleness. 

He didn't tend to write pretty things. Not to say Matthew didn't know how to write. He would inscribe poems into the lucky pages of paper that would be chosen for him to scribble upon. He would mimic Shakespeare, Aesop and Grimm, but in reality that is where the problem did lie. He wrote the longest essay that was recorded to date on his own record, being over eight pages. Simply, it was about death. Not the beauty of it, how God only chose the most beautiful of flowers from His garden, or how life would give presents of love to death, he wrote about the anguish and about his fascination with it. 

It started with Mister Berks. Mister Berks could be described as many things, a ghoul, a freak, the boogieman to some. Matthew saw him as a Darwin, or as a Newton or Mendel or, dare it be said, Madam Currie. Berks was something that Matthew not only admired, but aspired to be. He showed Matthew his first cat stomach when Matthew had gone in for anatomy research. Unlike many of the common reactions to a severed cat organ, Matthew was intoxicated by the mere appearance of the filleted tissue. Mister Berks, being the only available scientist within the small town, was a gem hidden by layers and layers of dirt and on the surface sociopathic like tendencies. 

Mister Berks, like all living things Matthew would ever grow to love or cherish, died at the ripe old age of thirty nine. He died on September 23rd, at the hands of a drunken, teenage driver who had swung his car directly into Berk as he crossed the street to arrive at his seven thirty appointment with what witnesses could only describe as, the lady of his night. Fractured skull, fractured ribs and several broken bones Berks had suffered from. He died after two hours in the hospital, while the driver of the car simply vanished from the scene and was never to be spoken of again. 

Of course, Matthew never forgot, never forgave and never relented on his fascination and anger with the death of his mentor. If Matthew could ever had a mentor.