This one is from the narrators perspective, pls read it bro its peak i promise
Dear Mom and Dad,
There are so many things I could ask you guys, how the weather is, how Jane is doing, or how your business is going. Of course that would be foolish and overly sentimental; I know that the weather in July of 1970 was probably warm, I know Jane is currently fighting stage II melanoma, and I know the florist shop you guys planned on making never came to be. You guys may wonder why I'm writing this letter a decade after your deaths, and around 50 years after I should have sent this letter. I’m writing this letter because I’m starting to get the same feeling I had 50 years ago; the feeling of things coming to an end, you know the feeling?
I can’t find out how to describe it in words. It's like we all live inside a ship-in-a-bottle, God just shakes it around and around. You're in the ship holding on for dear life, you don’t think about anything else but just surviving, but then God stops, and takes you outside of the bottle. You look at the ship, the small, raggedy ship inside that old bottle and you think “ damn, that's the thing I was caught in, I mean sure if I fell into the water I’d be dead for sure, but… damn.”
That's the feeling I got at that Church 50 years ago. We were in the church on a hill, with men of the cloth cleaning our M-60s, and all of the sudden it hit me how much of a joke my situation was. I mean the entirety of my experience in the Vietnam War could easily be a 20 minute cartoon; G.I Joe and his crazy, crayon consuming friends. At this point I was already desensitized to the constant violence, and I gained a certain clarity. Maybe it was the church that had feeling all spiritual, but everything just became nonsensical. Kurt Cobain died, that macho idiot, how’d he die you ask? Beats me he probably died from trying to flex his muscles too hard. That loser Ted… whatever his face, I honestly forget some times. But I felt the sadness and sorrow in the tragedies too, and I got this out of body feeling where I only felt emotion, every emotion I had felt and could ever feel. Then even the feeling of emotion went away and I was just left with all the thoughts that had been with me since. I don't know, I can’t even remember when, but it was all just there. The first thing, the only thing in my head the next day was writing a letter to someone, to anyone, my thoughts weren’t something that could be expressed through the emotional medium of speech. I got my hands on some spare paper, quick I needed a pen, oh where was that damn pen! I took another glance at that paper, and poof gone, it was all gone. I spent the next few days crazily trying to remember something, anything, and it was all gone thanks to that damn pen! Ever since then I've wondered about those thoughts, but even thinking about it for too long seemed to scare them away. Then when Jane got diagnosed with melanoma, genuine feelings spread through me, a strong fear, one I hadn’t felt since Vietnam. Then I thought of the absurdity of the situation, I mean Jane wore sunscreen everyday for the last 58 years, She kickstarted her own skincare business while I was drinking and writing. Out of the seven billion people on this earth, God decided to give a skin disease to her? Surely this was a joke, some absurd joke the cosmos had thought up. Then the feeling hit me again, the strange euphoria, the thoughts I had cooped up in my brain since forever. I must write, if I don’t I might die without giving life to this feeling. I made The Things They Carried to give life to the long dead experiences of Vietnam, but there was always that one thing missing, and oh if only I could recall. But I can’t. I have no mouth, and I must scream.
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