A Letter to the Queen - Luther Crowley's Journal

[Fen]

LOSS OF INNOCENCE
Entry One

By Luther James Crowley

I remember it very vividly. It was a lovely day in Bensonhurst, despite the constant fear of being hunted by dogs looking to carve a reputation out of your hide. I was young then, and not nearly as accustomed to the streets as many of the other dogs in the city. I was alone, utterly alone in my plight. He had left me on the docks, and sailed away on that grand ship of his. I'd watched it drift out toward the sun until I could no longer see it over the horizon and the sun had turned to the silver face of the moon. My heart had been longing, desperate to be at his side once more, even if only for a moment. The cold ushered me onward, and I left on weary paws, my stomach a pit of hunger that nothing could fill. My mind was hazy, like waking up before the dawn. I remember the smell of rain on the breeze, and the scent of the decay of a city dying due to poverty and neglect. A new chapter in my life had been started, and I had yet lain pen to paper before I was already hopelessly lost on my journey. The delicate age of six months was not a time to be alone in this new world, and it wouldn't be long before trouble found me.

So, I took shelter the best place I could find; it amounted to the back end of an alley, a place I could rest my back against and have little fear of an attack from behind. This proved to be bad judgement on my part, because I had scarcely nodded off before hearing the clicks of nails on concrete and the sharp pain of jaws locking around my neck. Looking back now I should have seen it coming, should have left myself an out. There was only one entrance and one exit. I was foolish then, and the dogs were hungry. I was an exceptional meal fit for a king in their eyes. A plump, human-raised bulldog all alone in an unfamiliar city? What more of a red flag could anyone ask for?

That's when I knew I was gone. I knew this was the end for me, until God shined his light on me and sent me a savior. 

Now, I don't remember much, but the color of golden sunsets still registers in my mind as I recall that night. Blood had pooled on the asphalt, and I had nearly choked to death on it, my body hanging limply in the mouth of one of those wretched cannibals. Then, almost as quickly as they had appeared, they were gone, replaced with an older, kinder face. That's when everything faded to black.

When I came to, I was on an old mattress that smelled of piss and rat shit, leaves pressed to my neck and my head swimming. But there he was, standing over me. I don't recall now what my first words to him were, but I'm sure it held the effect of some sort of thanks, and calling him God. Nevertheless, he had chuckled at what I said and bid me to rest, and I did.

I never knew then that this was the start of who I am today. That dog, Marco Ruiz, he was the beginning and the end.

I died that night. My old self fading into the void as I awoke with a new perspective.

My innocence, it was gone.

[Fen]

THE PHOENIX
Entry Two
By Luther James Crowley

The sun was setting. And in places like that, where the ocean was so absolute that the only sign of any other land was a bridge that stretched out for miles and miles, the sun sets fast. It almost seemed to be racing us. People pulled over to watch it plummet to the ocean, producing cameras from the folds of purses and deep pockets. I watched it all with the eyes of a child. The vibrant colors - arrays of reds and oranges and yellows, touches of pink, all reaching out to paint the water like an artist with a brush. I felt small, my adolescent body quivering at the sheer splendor and magnificence of the moment. My thoughts were of some far away land where a huge clock tower was decorated with the color of the setting sun and the evening train droned in the distance and people walked in a hurried pace, mumbling between each other of evening plans. The smell of coffee and tea, fresh baked bread removed from the oven for tomorrow's store windows. I closed my eyes, the scene plain in my head as I remembered. A pang of longing pierced my heart, and tears welled in my eyes as I tried to focus on the memory, clinging to it like death.

"Don't let them see you cry, Luther."

I looked up, my eyes fixing on the Golden Retriever seated next to me, his graying, but still brilliant, fur blowing in the breeze and cast in the colors of the sun. He turned his old eyes to me, his face a slate of nothingness; no emotion showed. I quickly shrank beneath his gaze, wiping at my face with a trembling paw and turning my eyes back on the vastness of the ocean. I didn't speak. That wasn't my place. That was Marco's. 

"You miss home?"

I nodded, my eyes falling to the pavement.

Marco turned his gaze back to the setting sun, sinking beneath the waves, and he smiled.

"There are things in life that come and go, my son. We change, we adapt, we move forward. Though you may not believe me now, this pain will come to pass and will be replaced with more. At times it will be cumbersome, and you won't have the strength to stand."

I looked at him, his words drawing me in, my eyes seeing him as a god from the stories as his form became a silhouette against the colors of the sky. 

"The key is to remain strong. Remember that there is beauty in the world. Like this sunset." His eyes focused on the burning orb in the sky, and I followed his gaze. "The sun sets each day, falls like a wounded soldier to give rise to the moon. Expertly balanced, infinitely perfect. That is the way of the world, but let me ask you this. Does the sun not rise again the next morning?"

I couldn't speak. My voice caught in my throat as I stared at the sun, eyes glistening with tears and burning with wonder. "Yes." I said finally.

"And so shall you. You will rise, my son. You will rise and adapt. Bensonhurst is not London, but it will belong to you." Marco looked to me, his eyes flickering in the coming darkness. "Pain is what you make it."

The colors of the sky began to fade, the mark left by the sun slowly narrowing into a small glowing in the sky, and we watched it sink beneath the sea. People began to leave the boardwalk, their footsteps fading until all that was left was silence and the rolling of the tide. It was in that moment that I realized Marco's intentions for me, and I gained the insatiable urge to make him proud.

"Let's go home, Luther." Marco said, rising to his feet, joints popping with the arthritis that had begun to settle in his bones. I followed, my eyes casting one last glance at the ocean before turning away. 

I never forgot those words. I doubt I ever will.