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OOM: By the inlet.
It's late. Later than he'd normally be up and moving around but tonight he can't sleep, he's not quite sure why but it's just something that he can't make himself do. The firewhiskey from earlier with Ginny he thought might help but it didn't, instead it just made him feel strange inside until the alcohol wore off. He went upstairs and tried to sleep but all that did was cause him to lie in bed and stare at the ceiling, so he grabs his coat and his blanket out of his pack, as well as a notebook and pen he got from Bar before she ran off and Mike got trapped inside and then headed downstairs.
Someone manages to give him a cup of coffee (because if he's not going to sleep why not drink coffee) and it's in a styrofoam cup with plastic lid and he eyes it for a moment before he wanders outside, past the lake, and towards the little inlet where lake meets sea. The ship is gone, it was here before again but Jack is back (and probably doing things with Mike's body he does not want to think about) so at least that's good. There's a bit of a breeze off the water but the air smells sweet, and he settles on the sand with the blanket wrapped around his shoulders and sits in the dark. The moon isn't full, but a slim cresent but it gives him just enough light to write what he wants to after he stares into the ocean and at the horizon for awhile, thinking about conversations with people he's had here.
The people he's met and the places he's been because of it, his friends and the trip to Sherwood forest and trees so green you could get lost in them and feel like you were invisible. The pen rests against blank page for a long, long time before he finally begins to write.
This is the journal of Josiah Gordon Scurlock, better known here at Milliways as Doc.
The page is filled with names of people he's met and things he remembers about each of them, things they've told him or they've taught him, the places he's learned about, the future and the past, of wars and battles and creatures, magic and a Bar that can write on napkins and get drunk, of hot bathtubs and DVD players and movies. Pizza, jelly beans that taste of every flavor, leaning how to shoot an arrow and a bow, of working in the stables and what it's like to be an honest man again, not on the run, the way he feels at peace in a place like this. When he's finished he turns the page to a fresh one (he's filled several in the span of time it took him to get it all down so he wouldn't forget, because he doesn't want to forget his times here even if he's seriously considering not leaving at all) and he starts to write a letter.
Yen,
I know it has been a very long time since I went to work that day, the day they came to arrest me at the school, and not a day goes by that I do not think of you and our son, and wish that instead of here, I was there to hold him in my arms and to hold you in my arms as well. To tell you both that I love you, more than life itself and the people I know in it. Not a day goes by that I do not miss you, and wish that I could change the past and that we could run away, if not to New York maybe to another country, where you and I could raise Jonathan to be a honorable boy and we could live in peace. My heart aches when I think about what I am missing, while I am away from you, and my chest grows tight as I write this because I wish so badly to be with you and our son.
I am so sorry, for the pain this has caused you. I can not say it enough, how much I wish this could all just go away, that we could start over in a safe place, without Billy or the Army or any of the problems I've brought. I wish I could change the past.
But, the past is something that cannot be changed. We can only take what we are given, and make the best of it. I will come home to you, I promise. It may take time, even though so much has passed already, but I will never stop trying to find my way back to where I belong, at your side, with our child.
He hesitates for a long few moments, reading over what he has already written on the page before he turns to the other side for a fresh line to begin.
I do not know if this letter will ever reach you. Perhaps you have moved on, to someplace safe, with your parents and our son. Perhaps you have wished to forget about me, though I pray this is not the case I would not blame you if you did. I do not know if this will reach you but I can only hope that if it does, it finds you and our son well, safe, and happy. You need to understand that where I am...I am safe, in this place. Each day, I look upon the door as it opens and part of my heart swells with the idea that it could be you, coming in, but I know that it will not be the case. Maybe, if are lucky, with fate at our back, I will come home to you, and we can raise our son. Together.
I miss you with all my heart, my butterfly.
Love,
Josiah
With that said, and the feeling in his chest still tight a little, he turns the page and writes another.
Yen,
Sometimes, as much as it pains the hearts of the hand that holds her close, even the most beautiful of butterflies must be set free, aloft on the winds of change on the path to freedom. If your freedom is what you wish for, deepest inside your heart, then take it. Fly to the stars and over the moon, around the heavens and to a place where you can be safe, forever. My heart will always be yours, but I cannot hold you, so delicate and tender, in hands as rough as my own. If you wish for your freedom, consider this my gentle lift to coax you into the sky above.
I love you.
Doc
But something still doesn't feel right, as he turns to a fresh page and begins to write yet another letter, this one shorter than the previous two.
Yen,
Fly while you still have wings, butterfly.
Doc
He closes the book and then he pulls his blanket tighter around him, the chill from the air creeping into his skin. He's still not tired enough to sleep, so instead, he sits and drinks lukewarm coffee and waits for the sun to reach the horizon's edge, for color to return to the world and warm the sand on which he sits, in hopes that it will warm his heart as well.
Someone manages to give him a cup of coffee (because if he's not going to sleep why not drink coffee) and it's in a styrofoam cup with plastic lid and he eyes it for a moment before he wanders outside, past the lake, and towards the little inlet where lake meets sea. The ship is gone, it was here before again but Jack is back (and probably doing things with Mike's body he does not want to think about) so at least that's good. There's a bit of a breeze off the water but the air smells sweet, and he settles on the sand with the blanket wrapped around his shoulders and sits in the dark. The moon isn't full, but a slim cresent but it gives him just enough light to write what he wants to after he stares into the ocean and at the horizon for awhile, thinking about conversations with people he's had here.
The people he's met and the places he's been because of it, his friends and the trip to Sherwood forest and trees so green you could get lost in them and feel like you were invisible. The pen rests against blank page for a long, long time before he finally begins to write.
This is the journal of Josiah Gordon Scurlock, better known here at Milliways as Doc.
The page is filled with names of people he's met and things he remembers about each of them, things they've told him or they've taught him, the places he's learned about, the future and the past, of wars and battles and creatures, magic and a Bar that can write on napkins and get drunk, of hot bathtubs and DVD players and movies. Pizza, jelly beans that taste of every flavor, leaning how to shoot an arrow and a bow, of working in the stables and what it's like to be an honest man again, not on the run, the way he feels at peace in a place like this. When he's finished he turns the page to a fresh one (he's filled several in the span of time it took him to get it all down so he wouldn't forget, because he doesn't want to forget his times here even if he's seriously considering not leaving at all) and he starts to write a letter.
Yen,
I know it has been a very long time since I went to work that day, the day they came to arrest me at the school, and not a day goes by that I do not think of you and our son, and wish that instead of here, I was there to hold him in my arms and to hold you in my arms as well. To tell you both that I love you, more than life itself and the people I know in it. Not a day goes by that I do not miss you, and wish that I could change the past and that we could run away, if not to New York maybe to another country, where you and I could raise Jonathan to be a honorable boy and we could live in peace. My heart aches when I think about what I am missing, while I am away from you, and my chest grows tight as I write this because I wish so badly to be with you and our son.
I am so sorry, for the pain this has caused you. I can not say it enough, how much I wish this could all just go away, that we could start over in a safe place, without Billy or the Army or any of the problems I've brought. I wish I could change the past.
But, the past is something that cannot be changed. We can only take what we are given, and make the best of it. I will come home to you, I promise. It may take time, even though so much has passed already, but I will never stop trying to find my way back to where I belong, at your side, with our child.
He hesitates for a long few moments, reading over what he has already written on the page before he turns to the other side for a fresh line to begin.
I do not know if this letter will ever reach you. Perhaps you have moved on, to someplace safe, with your parents and our son. Perhaps you have wished to forget about me, though I pray this is not the case I would not blame you if you did. I do not know if this will reach you but I can only hope that if it does, it finds you and our son well, safe, and happy. You need to understand that where I am...I am safe, in this place. Each day, I look upon the door as it opens and part of my heart swells with the idea that it could be you, coming in, but I know that it will not be the case. Maybe, if are lucky, with fate at our back, I will come home to you, and we can raise our son. Together.
I miss you with all my heart, my butterfly.
Love,
Josiah
With that said, and the feeling in his chest still tight a little, he turns the page and writes another.
Yen,
Sometimes, as much as it pains the hearts of the hand that holds her close, even the most beautiful of butterflies must be set free, aloft on the winds of change on the path to freedom. If your freedom is what you wish for, deepest inside your heart, then take it. Fly to the stars and over the moon, around the heavens and to a place where you can be safe, forever. My heart will always be yours, but I cannot hold you, so delicate and tender, in hands as rough as my own. If you wish for your freedom, consider this my gentle lift to coax you into the sky above.
I love you.
Doc
But something still doesn't feel right, as he turns to a fresh page and begins to write yet another letter, this one shorter than the previous two.
Yen,
Fly while you still have wings, butterfly.
Doc
He closes the book and then he pulls his blanket tighter around him, the chill from the air creeping into his skin. He's still not tired enough to sleep, so instead, he sits and drinks lukewarm coffee and waits for the sun to reach the horizon's edge, for color to return to the world and warm the sand on which he sits, in hopes that it will warm his heart as well.