The Cries of Cedar Wood

My Gift to You

The corners of the floorboards waft nodes of aroma down the elongated hallways of the old house. The feel of certainty that stems from every wavering step that greets the floorboards bring a sense of warmth through the foreboding halls. The trust that is secured in the walls allow for the secrets to find shelter in the walls. Each chamber has become a desolate safe house to the concerns of the occupants they harbor. Each room belonging to only one, a forever servant to its master protecting it from the harsh winters of the outside world. Well at least till death do it apart.

The room that surrounds me, is small but bright in color to improve the moral of the situation. A bed sits in the far corner, plush from lack of ware, but it easily acts in second to the set of table and chairs on the opposing side. The table functions as a sort of desk on one side, ready to be used when needed but perfectly out of the way for the most part. it is best to stay away from this part. Its not good to touch that which isn't yours. The remaining side is bare in contrast to its counterpart. It lives for a single purpose. A stack of blank pages, but no pens or writing instruments. You'll write only when they ask, so be wise. The rest of the room shares resemblance to what I believed to be called a retirement home. The only that resembled character would be the cedar wood that envelopes the entire establishment.

You watch out the window of my room. Seeing the light flood in to the narrow clearing of the forest. Lawns green and fruitful. Gardens that surround you believe it or not spare not a dime when it comes to it's detail. If you can still see the seeming couple that walks along the path into the woods. Followed behind them a young lady.

That must be a family you must be thinking to yourself.

You should come to know that the house and its followers don't take kindly to those who act out of term or imagine fine fantasies in life. The only job of the occupants here is to continue living without being noticed. Strange when you think about it, especially with the atmosphere this place produces and the circumstances under which you were probably sent. However, the rules make it obvious that the owner of this chamber that you reside in is not kind nor forgiving. The four trusting walls that surround you should hear no sound and never harbor your story.

That however, is a story for another time. What I must disclose first is far more urgent. My story.

If I could, I would sum up the events with one word coffee. The sweet aroma with a bitter taste. its utterly perfect and what seems to be the best description of my life before this hell. You might be wondering what I am talking about. If you have found these letters then its probably been a long time since you've forgotten the outside world. They do a good job of separating you from reality. You'll learn in your own time how the world around you has become riddled with fiction. You see the whole point of it is for you to forget what truth and reality really is. They feed off your desires to forget the event, what ever it might be that brought you here. They spew lies. Ones that you might be open to believe, and that is understandable. If you've ended up here then your reason is horrific. Sometimes fiction is more easily understood than true events. Reality is often pathetic so we tend to make up stories that prove a point, thus dragging our worlds into fiction.

However you proceed is up to you, but I urge you to remember. Because like it or not, that may be all you will ever have.