Dear Mr. DingleWaddles

*** This post is part four in the Issacary Echelon Resurgence, here is the previous post, or start from the beginning ***

Found by the doorway, a yellowed paper. Tattered and stained with blood – a good thing. The signs of a blood friendship. Addressed to Mr. DingleWaddles, it read:

My Closest Friend,

I’m leaving. We both know I may not make it back. But you know as well as I: the Issacary Echelon must be brought to justice. And if justice has no avenue, I must drive them out of this world by force. Burning them to the ground as they have burned so many others – if it’s required of me.

I’ve heard rumors from the blood circle that the Echelon is hiding in a place known as “the west coast” – specifically a place called “Calyfornya.” I’m not sure how it’s pronounced. You know I won’t look at a map, ever since I accidentally split the continents during one of my previous lives. But I will seek out this location nevertheless. Using the traditional means of assailing each person on the street and inquiring as to which cardinal direction I should begin to wander.

I have no doubt the small enchanted canvas which you have entrusted to me will come in handy. Yes, I know the Psycanvas is special to you. When your brother became the Regional Hex Director and began to study the mysteries… Sorry, I know I should leave the past in the past. I just want you to know: I think he’d be proud of who you’ve become.

May my absence come as a welcome reprieve from this blathering asphalt appraiser. Enjoy the quiet while I’m away – but please do think of me often. And perform a seance or two if you have the time. Though: don’t fret.

Don’t forgo the incredible progress you’ve made on your incantations out of worry or woe. Don’t distil the blood fountain before you’ve readied it. Don’t lose sight of the goals and the desires you’ve set for yourself.

The are no words available to adequately express my gratitude. For your friendship. For your support.

From the 2 am blood baths to the mid-day mimosas. From the celebratory parties thrown without occasion to the wing on the ankle when I was feeling low.

From me to you: thanks.

Always your friend. Always in blood. Always,

Richard

*** Next Post ***

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2 thoughts on “Dear Mr. DingleWaddles

  1. Pingback: Voluntary Eviction | RICHARD BERKSHIRE

  2. Pingback: Public Transfixation | RICHARD BERKSHIRE

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