Avid to see you

September 7, 1609

Dear Abigail,

   I haven´t talked to you in so long, my darling. I miss you, I miss your smile, the way you gingerly handle conflicts, and how your love used to pervade every inch of my body with one kiss. It is imperative for you to understand that you have to be patient, for we will shortly be together once again. Our government has confirmed that another ship will be sailing the ocean, it will sail from London, England to Jamestown, and you honey will be on that ship.

   The ship will set sail on November 14 on a journey to what is the first permanent settlement in the north of the New World. It really isn’t a concise trip, there will be moments when you will grimace because of your struggles, and sometimes you will feel the urge to succumb, but I am sure that hope will keep you alive. And once you arrive and see me, I am sure you will be electrified and the ache in your heart will be replaced with thrill.

   Here in Jamestown, my disposition is different than it used to be England. In London, I used to wake up worried and nervous about our economic state, angry about the problems that encompass my native country. Here, I am filled with tranquility. Even though I have to work hard to earn food here and I am starting from zero; it is like I have a brand new life, free of debt, free of sins and free of conflicts. 

   As I mentioned, I work hard here, everyone does, but that didn´t start till shortly. The working class and peasants always worked to the best of their ability, but then, there were the guile noblemen, who tricked us into doing their chores. This kept recurring until a man by the name of John Smith introduced an idea that stated that whomever doesn´t work, does not eat! Some considered him to be evil and brusque, but I considered him to be fair. Since then, everyone has the same amount of work to do and the colony´s success has ascended. Everyone communicates and socializes better as well; manners and random acts of kindness are done spontaneously.

   Tobacco is the pivot of our settlement. It has become our cash crop, it is our way of benefiting economically and may I say that it is a superb benefit!

   Did I mention we have our own government here in Jamestown? Well, it’s not lie… better yet we elected the representatives ourselves!!! We are still under the power of Queen Elizabeth, but for issues that only concern out settlement it is our government, the House of Burgesses, that makes the decisions.

   Abigail, I am avid to stare into those teal eyes of yours like I did every morning two years ago. I hope you are as enthusiastic as I am for our brand new life here in Jamestown.

Love,

Adrian 

Betrayal

   To me he is like a son, he is the one to give me water when I am dehydrated, he is the one to organize my inventory of books, he is my only one left, he is the only one that cares for me. He does not care about my gold and treasure; he does not simulate his affection for me. He is simply just concerned for me because he appreciates me.  But, since about a week ago I have this feeling, this feeling of doubt. Could the man I have treated like a son be betraying me? He no longer offers to help, and when he does help, he does it in a cursory manner.  He has grimaced at me as if he was glaring at something gruesome…I feel repulsive.

   It’s a quarter to midnight and I am clad in my night- gown, I have cleared my mind as I go to my chamber and fastened my eyes as I lay in my bed. I am about to fall asleep, but I suddenly hear the sound of a minuscule object drop.

“Who is there?” I cry as I spring up in my bed, but no one answers. But, nothing can possibly be there; it’s just but the wind in the chimney or maybe a mouse crossing the floor. It has been silent for so long, but a ray of light like the thread of a spider shot directly to my cataract-infected eye, feelings of fear are electrifying me.

   A millisecond after, I have shrieked and he has thrown me to the floor, along with the heavy bed on top of me.  The corners and sharp ends of the bed made abrasions on my shoulders, and my endeavor to escape just isn´t enough. I succumb; I can feel my soul leaving my body.

   I am witnessing something, something I would of never surmised when alive, my killer was the man I had loved like a son. That man I had treated so well, that man was the one to cease my heartbeat. Gingerly, he moved the bed off of my lifeless body, lifted up three planks from the floor, and buried my shell underneath there. 

   In the morning, two policemen rang the doorbell, and the murderer has answered and welcomed them in. They said they had derived suspicions when the neighbor informed them they had heard a shriek coming from my house. The killer is letting them search the house on search of clues, and because they have seen nothing they have decided to take a seat and chat. But I am not going to let my murderer win, from heaven and into his mind I am emulating the sound of my heartbeat. He has become pale white, he can hear the horrifying beat, and his heart is rising into his throat. He cannot handle the guilt anymore!

“I did it! I killed the old man! It wasn´t me it was his vulture eye,” he claimed!

His guilt-evoked confession has corroborated my conclusion, the man is simply insane!