Non-information about non-reality

Dear Mother and Father,

I attended the party last night, but was late. I suspect they may have started early, but that's probably just a poor rationalization for my misbehavior. I know that it is never a good thing to be late when meeting with Important People. I tried to get questions answered, even though it's impolite to hijack conversations by one's superiors. I hope it will be alright. I don't think it helped, particularly. My mention of the cluster of nuns by the docks was met with Ms. Aaoee-sama's assurance that is was "nothing", or more specifically that it was "the tong", which she says are nothing. I can't imagine she meant salad tongs; a large group would have very few reasons to get worked up over cutlery. I really must learn some Japanese just so I can understand her when she talks. That is, I believe, a worthy objective. I gathered last night that she is a more important person around here than I have been giving her credit for. Not counting a lighthearted remark about gradually "owning" more and more of Steelhead Shanghai, there was an instance in which she appeared to exert influence over the others present. She greeted me as "Ashbourne-san", upon which the others greeted me simply as "Ashbourne" or without mentioning my name, rather than the usual mix of "Miss Ashbourne" and sincere efforts to work out a pronunciation of "Shaqad". They really seemed to look up to her.
Eventually the two official owners of Steelhead, Mr. Lunar and Ms. Tensai, arrived. Ms. Tensai was still in the form of a kitten, but for the second time in a row I was able to restrain myself from squealing like an undisciplined little child. There was, however, a moment of quiet and secret horror for me: Ms. Tensai had a cat-sized hat on which was decorated by even tinier skulls; I asked what they were. Both "awkwardly human-looking mice" and "mimmoths" were proposed, and I'm really not sure which one they decided it was. But I remembered mimmoth skulls as looking a lot different than that. I kill wild mimmoths on sight to avenge Valdy's home, so I'd seen mimmoth skulls very recently and still didn't recognize them on Ms. Tensai's hat! I fear for my sanity. I really hope they were mice after all! Do you remember that time you had to tell me a second time that babies are made through kissing because I had misremembered the first time as involving a story about storks? Then there was also that time when I told the whole church that I was sad because I had gotten my first spanking that morning, thus embarrassing you in front of absolutely everyone, before you explained that I had only pretended such a thing had happened and forgotten that I was pretending. I am so sorry about that and hope someday you will forgive me. But what seemed to be mere stupidity and arrogance in the past may indicate severe ongoing mental problems. Even after the belt incident was resolved, it took my bottom several days to acknowledge the truth my brain already understood. Do you think I belong in a sanatorium? I'm sure the unease I dealt with when receiving surgery at Crimson Falls was more of a temporary shock reaction than what someone staying there would actually experience. But if I could be cured of everything about me that hurts you, it would be worth most any cost, I should think.
When I mentioned my difficulties with the barrier around Shanghai, Ms. Aaoee-sama made a cryptic remark about "age verification". Mother, this barrier is something I mentioned in my last letter to Father: It is an invisible wall of pushiness that seems to completely surround a large section of the city. It is very selective in what it allows and what it pushes away. It pushes me away, but it lets in: Sticks, stones, dirt, pine needles, pine cones, grass, a torn-off bit of paper, Miss Gearbox, and Ms. Aaoee-sama. I don't know what Ms. Aaoee-sama meant about age, but either Miss Gearbox is younger than me or she never, ever eats her vegetables. Perhaps I misunderstood what she was trying to tell me.
Either way, I don't think the city likes me very much. It may not be in the minds of the citizens themselves, but something here seems not to be fond of me. I wonder what forces are at work beneath the surface of a high-tech, magically inclined pocket of The Grid like this. Do you suppose they can be placated? I don't want to get into witchcraft or anything, of course. It may just be one of those things one must accept and live with.
I haven't seen Valdy recently. I suppose I can't look for her around Shanghai now, either. But maybe my fixation with her has been misguided. The more I consider my reasoning, the more it seems like yet another case of my dubious grip on reality. For one thing, the more I think about her having said, "You're a good kid, Shaqad," the clearer it becomes that even a parallel universe would not cause it to have occurred outside my imagination. The pleasant dreams have all but tapered off now (though I have gotten better at handling the nightmares, as I was before the sea monster hijacked them), but it still most likely came from a dream misremembered as reality. However, if there were something I could do that would make such a fanciful thing real, I know that I would do it. I cannot, off the top of my hand, think of any value of "something" for which that is not the case.
No, never mind what I just said. I would most likely forfeit such a reality in exchange for one in which you yourselves said something like that. But now I'm getting severely off-track from the real world.
She probably didn't hug me, either. That whole thing was so surreal. Why was she a dragon at the time, anyhow? I almost certainly got the whole scene out of some nearly-forgotten picture book. My skin still remembers it in clear, gratuitous detail, but I never gave my body a license to tell me what is real and what isn't. I wish you were here to tell me what reality is. I miss you so badly. I wasn't ready to be on my own. The way I am, I may never be ready.
The underground locomotive I took out of Steelhead last time brought me to the middle of nowhere and left me. If I am to return to you, I will have to find another way. May God have mercy on me, lost as I am.
Miss Blackheart of the Music says that Saturday is Christmas, and that there won't be a party. I don't want to spend Christmas away from you, and especially not alone. I could go back along the mountains and spy on Miss Gearbox's family again, but that might get depressing and potentially cause trouble for both me and them. I don't want any of that. I am not sure what I shall do.

Love,
Shaqad

Age Verification

Dear Father,

I intended to return to the mines yesterday, but I'm afraid I got too distracted by the mill-folk. I really will have to speak with them sometime. I've sometimes seen Miss Gearbox around town running errands and may have an opportunity to converse with her yet.
However, the part of the city I would most often see her in has become inaccessible. (Either that or my poor sense of direction is kicking in, and it's actually another part of the city.) This morning, I made my way back in the direction of the urban area, and I was within sight of the places Miss Gearbox frequents when some horrible invisible thing knocked me back. I can't say for sure what it is. It doesn't seem to be solid like glass, but perhaps more similar to a pushy magnetic forcefield. I cannot run my hands along it, but my hands are repelled by it. Strangely enough, it doesn't do that to sticks. I can pick up a stick and run it through the barrier farther than my hands might go, but if the part of my hand that's holding the stick gets close enough, it'll bounce right back. I can throw pebbles quite a distance beyond it as well. I think it's only me the barrier wants to keep out. Maybe it's a living creature and it examines people's hearts or something. (In that case, I wonder if I should admit any of this to folks outside the family.) Or maybe it's an aetheric anomaly, but usually those are only temporary. It also could be some new technology of the Sparkpeople's, like a military experiment or something, but why put it in that particular spot? From my testing, it goes quite a long way and then bends sharply inward on itself at what seems to be a right angle, possibly surrounding a whole city district--but why? If it was put up intentionally, just what is it meant to protect from what?
In your extensive research, have you ever encountered anything like this?

Shaqad

On the curious antics of fairies

Dear Mother and Father,

I meant to go back to the mines as soon as I was finished with my hike, but I haven't left yet. I know I am not equipped to stay out here shivering in my home-sewn mimmoth furs indefinitely. In fact, I can no longer feel my fingers and am shocked that this page seems to be legible so far. There isn't anything here that I absolutely must see. In fact, I got to the opposite side of the river earlier today and found little of enduring interest. I found a shepherd's house with a spooky pagan altar at the back of it, and down closer to the river, there was a log-cutting place whose owner gave me a most displeased look when I ventured too near. I didn't stay around there for very long, naturally. I hate upsetting the neighbors.
All the frogs have gone into hibernation by now, and I don't believe the Steelhead region has a single whippoorwill. Perhaps in the latter case, they haven't any work to do when there aren't head-stealing sea monsters about.
In any case, I am now back at the little water-mill. That is to say, I'm not exactly on the property, but near enough to it on the opposite side of the road that I can see it between the trees whenever I wish. I am confused. I am not so certain that the blonde lady is Miss Gearbox's mother after all. She treats the children more as a friend and peer would than as a mother would. It's as if she has absolutely no desire to maintain control of them. I've not heard her give a mandatory order this entire time. Perhaps she is a much-older sister. You've told me that you have a soft spot for me that only a biological parent can have, but what the blonde lady displays is far more than a soft spot. She lets the young ones talk back to her when they don't agree. I haven't heard her use any aduts-only words when they do something that might be frustrating. And I've not once seen her box anyone's ears. She reminds me more of Valdy than of you, despite being completely unlike a Jaegerperson. My curiosity binds me to this place. I hope nobody minds. Perhaps they'll all be mad at me when they discover I've been spying. I know grownups always, always find out what foolish children have been up to. Perhaps I should just march up to them and turn myself in; perhaps I ought to be as honest with them as I've learned to be with you.
I miss you both, you know. I cannot count how many times I have wished you were here to help me know right from wrong. I'm sure a lot of things would have to change if you were. I would have to stop addressing you as mere friends and start giving you the respect a parent deserves. The format of my long-winded yet detail-deficient letters could not persist in up-close interactions with you. And perhaps also, you might calm down your God for me. I'm sure I've annoyed him a great deal in the past three quarters of a year, and you've not been present to patch things up for me. I really don't know how I've made it this far without you.

Love,
Shaqad

Getting out more

Dear Mother and Father,

As evidenced by the existence of this letter, I survived my attempt to alter my cheese gun! It works surprisingly well now, and I only have the faintest singe marks on my clothing. I can't believe that happened.
I have also constructed boots and a shawl from the skins of fluffy mimmoths. I feel much warmer when I go outside, and I didn't even have to leech off of others! I really am getting better at this survival thing, don't you think? "Good" is a bit beyond my reach, of course, but surely I'm doing better than before!
I regret to say that I did not attend the evening party last night. From what I gathered by peeking in the windows (unnoticed, I believe and hope), everyone who normally runs the parties--including Miss Blackheart of the Music and every single Jaegerperson, plus Valdy's close friends--was absent, and an assortment of guests had made themselves at home of their own will. Now, I am aware that some of them hold positions of authority in the military and business and such, but I was unsure if it was a good idea to go in and mingle with them uninvited. I know somebody owns that place, so it is not my habit to just waltz on in without an invitation. Please, don't you think such etiquette is reasonable?
I ended up wandering off and hiking on the nearest mountain. The December air is so chilly, but it's nice to be out of doors (and also out of mines, I mean). I know sunlight is bad for my complexion, and I haven't any arsenic powder to correct it, but some strange animal drive deep inside me likes the light. I think I've kept properly sheltered for the majority of the winter, though; my hair has turned almost jet black from the lack of sunshine, and back in the spring when I last saw you, I'm fairly certain it was chestnut brown.
I don't think I've been anywhere near those mountain woods since I chased down the wild kitty to get Squeezy's pelt. There don't seem to be any edible flowers left on it anymore, but I oughtn't fret because I have my cheese gun. It's a beautiful place, kind of bare in some places and thoroughly wild in others, but of course it isn't like a tidy postcard photograph, and I really need to wrench my heart away from Dunwich. I still cannot wrap my feeble mind around what made the place so utterly abhorrent to sensible folks. I recall that the land had its own ideas about what ought to grow out of it, no matter what anybody did; yet I don't think everything it did produce was worthless in its own right. I don't remember why the singing birds and frogs drove the grownups to distraction. I don't remember what people found frightening about having steep hills snuggled up close to them; even if there were diabolical pagan gods with trickier names than mine waiting under every third mound of dirt, didn't you have a God of your own? And although you've said it many, many times, I still have some difficulties grasping what made the neighbors horrible people. Many of them were aloof, uneducated, and rather sickly, but I don't recall seeing them do anything horrible. Even Mr. Whateley, so feared for his sinful past, surely couldn't have continued to do wicked things after baby Lavinny was born, could he? Someday I would like to send the whole village a telegram and ask how things are. Wouldn't you perhaps like to know as well?
Forgive my impudence. I will speak of this matter no more.
On my lovely hike beside Steelhead, I found a big river and a little farm-mill. There I saw Miss Gearbox with her mother and her many siblings. I didn't see a father, so perhaps he isn't strong enough for farm work. On the other hand, Mrs. Gearbox may be a widow (poor thing!). Since the siblings look so unlike each other, she may have even been widowed more than once. I didn't approach them because I didn't want to distract them from their chores nor bother a large group all at one time nor accidentally guilt them into feeding an extra mouth. I ultimately set up camp across the road, just far enough where they would not have been able to see the fire. In spite of what the cheese gun seemed to indicate, the Ashbourne Curse is still in effect: I was able to start a respectably-sized campfire by setting my mind to building a pocketwatch out of twigs. I hope nobody noticed the "boom!" or grew alarmed by it. I don't know whether to be comforted or saddened by the fact that the Ashbourne Curse still operates so strongly. We still don't know what causes it (although you agreed it's probably neurological). Still, there are some aspects to fret about, in my own subjective opinion. For example, what if it grows stronger with age? I shouldn't like to accidentally blow something up whilst making a sandwich--although it turned out fine when you did so, Father. Surely your explosion survival talents are the greatest in all the land. On the upside, my campfire was much smaller than that horrible locomotive incident that gave you the horrible scars and which I've yet to live down.
It's funny: I say things to you now that I would never have said to you months ago. I have said useless things; petty things; frivolous things; brash things; rebellious things; wicked things. Perhaps absence makes the heart grow not necessarily fonder, but more nakedly like its deepest internal condition. It doesn't help that of all the adults I have met, none are interested in disciplining a child who is not their own, and they have instead allowed me to make many mistakes. It's really no wonder God allowed the sea monster to rise against them.
This is a dreary topic. I suppose if I am to learn anything from it, it must be that my self-discipline needs to improve. That's unsurprising, of course, but it is about time I took it seriously.
In any case, I suppose you may wish to thank the Powers That Be for preventing any wild critters from eating me in my sleep. That's usually a good thing.

Shaqad

Further down the rabbit trails

Dear Mother and Father,

I am deeply sorry about yesterday. I have no excuses for the lack of etiquette I displayed at the tavern party nor for the unstructured rambling of my letter. I think my head is clearer today, although things that cannot speak are still speaking to me, and I can still feel a hug. I gave up on finding anything of interest in Shanghai, especially after a large crowd gathered around the docks and made a most dreadful fuss regarding a chang, prompting me to give them as much space as possible. Now that I'm back in my home-space, I've begun working on a new weapon in case I ever need to defend myself. It's rather like a spear but has a disorderly mess of mimmoth tusks on the end of it rather than a single point. I'll probably have to swing it around like a cricket bat if I intend to damage anything. I'm sure you don't really care about this entire topic.
I remember something spoken at the party that might be of interest. They (Ms. Steamweaver the Jaegerlady and a Mr. Kozlov I've met multiple times) stated from experience that there are many dimensions that have humans and humanoids in them rather than just squidgy aliens like the brain-licking sea monster. Now I know it isn't physically impossible for me to be in one. I wonder how I might be able to tell. Suppose two universes were so similar that they both called themselves the same thing: How would they be distinguished, then? It would be nice to simply ask somebody, but who would I ask? Who would know such a thing?
If it turns out that I am in a parallel universe with a parallel Shaqad in it, do you think I should change my name to avoid confusion? What do you think of the name Princess Genevieve Mercy Felicia Anastasia Crystal Rose Isabella Victorianna Unicorn Sparkleflower Ashbourne?
In the meantime, I know I must improve my behavior. I cannot blame all of my problems on the aether. What is the secret to dispelling my stupidity? I guess if you knew that, you would have tried it a long time ago. Now I must figure it out on my own. Simply trying harder will be a reasonable first step, I'm sure.
My cheese gun has run out of fuel and stopped working. I am left in awe of the overwhelming lack of judment that led me to trust something I built myself to keep me fed throughout the winter. There is not a single dandelion leaf to be found up there, either. I very desperately need to figure out how to cook mimmoths. If I had a small machine, I'm sure I could set my mind to fixing it and thus produce a massive explosion in accordance with the Ashbourne Curse, which could possibly prepare nearby mimmoths in the same way the Jaegerladies did it. I'm trying it with my cheese gun right now, but it doesn't seem to be working. Maybe it ran out of explosions while I was originally building it. Yet, it didn't seem to be all that many explosions at the time; it really seems like there ought to be some left over.
It occurs to me that if I put the cheesification engine back together in a slightly different way, there is a remote chance that it could be made to run on a more readily available material such as gravel. If I fail horribly, which is the most likely outcome, it will either cook some mimmoths or cook me. In either case, I will no longer be in need of food. Do you think Valdy or anyone else would notice if this version of me exploded?
I should end the letter now in order to focus on reassembling the gun. I guess you'll never get this letter or any of the others if I don't survive, so if you do get this eventually, things went well.

Shaqad

In my own head

Dear Mother and Father,

I did not see Valdy this time. I'm sorry, that's not relevant.
I got confused tonight and am worried about my mental health, as usual. Do you think I need another hysterectomy? There were a lot of people and the aether got out of whack, but I think most of it was just me. Even after everyone left and I went outside, the aether was so thick I could barely walk.
I don't know what was talked about. I think the emperor of Steeltopia paid ransom to the evil corporation that had exiled him and retook his throne, but you probably already read that in the newspapers.
There were so many people about I could not keep track of what was going on. I even fell off The Grid a few times. When I wasn't falling off the ground, apparitions of you were talking to me. I don't think I had been up past bedtime lately, so I don't know why. I tried my best not to acknowledge the mirages in front of so many people. It was disturbingly easy to not acknowledge anything at all, in fact. I sort of checked out of reality. I am not proud of this and am standing in the corner in repentance, if that helps any. (I know it likely doesn't.)
I'm unsure of the things I saw other than you, but that's normal for the Steamlands. Someone I knew appeared as beams of light, then reverted to her normal self. Someone else I barely knew but recognized as a Person of Importance appeared as a talking kitten. (She clawed on Valdy's bar. Just because she's one of the city's founders or something doesn't mean she should be allowed to hurt people's private property! I really, really wanted to stop her, but she's said to be Important and also rather dangerous. I felt quite helpless. Now I'm going to be one of the only ones who knows where those claw marks came from, and either I'll have to keep it a secret or confess my cowardice. I'm such a fool.)
It was also another one of those times when everybody poofs away before I have a chance to say goodbye.
When I got the chance, I tried to get to Shanghai to see if Valdy was out working, but with the condition of the aether, it was a long and exhausting journey just to get here. Finding her is out of the question. I'm presently near a warehouse and will probably go to sleep in it as soon as I finish writing. I don't think it's a a minty-spice warehouse. It smells like fish and death and fish afflicted with death. I wonder if I can get some paid work and buy a fish sandwich sometime, or else learn to cook mimmoths. There's a mimmoth staring at me right now, plotting my doom. I would kill it if the aether weren't so thick. I could use its pelt to make a new pair of boots. I hope it doesn't carry out its doom-plots while I sleep.
I don't even know why I'm writing this. I have nothing to say, and Squeezy is saying distressing things to me. My mind needs a rest.
No, I still can't go back to Boston or anywhere in Massachusetts. I'm not leaving here. I'm sorry.

Shaqad

Occam's Chainsaw

Dear Mother and Father,

I believe I may have stumbled into a parallel universe. I'm surprised it took this long for it to occur to me, especially after being torn off The Grid repeatedly, but it never occurred to me previously that a universe that runs parallel to another universe might be possible. The idea finally hit me when I was digging deeply into my memory for some hint as to what happened the day before yesterday. It took a lot of concentration, but eventually things came up. Barefoot table dancing came up, but that could have been from Thursday. Ms. Aoi the Japanese fairy queen came up, but I've met her more than once before. Valdy came up. I know Valdy. There was that question I've heard many times before but still don't know the answer to: "How have you been?" I don't know how I've been. You aren't anywhere near enough to tell me how I've been, and although I may be prone to making all kinds of wild assumptions about how I am, I always wind up being wrong when I can get your objective feedback. I pity the people who ask me that question when there is no hope of my answering it correctly.
There was also another sentence that comes into my mind: "Eh, you're a good kid, Shaqad." My memory says Valdy said that. It is too strange even for my subconscious to come up with, but it could not have occurred on our Grid. And yet I think it happened. Thus, I must conclude that I am no longer in the same universe I was born into.
Father, do you remember the stories of Arthur Trigmason or whatever his name was? The one who was toying with dimensional harmonics in an effort to conquer every universe in existence, but was never seen again? Everyone thought he was insane because there isn't anything to conquer out there except for great squidgy Eldritch things, but perhaps he knew something nobody else did. Perhaps there really are other universes full of humanlike beings, and perhaps I'm in one of them.
The implications are staggering. If my hypothesis is correct (which it probably isn't, given that it's coming from a little lady who can't even set a table correctly), there's no telling how far I am from home. Are there copies of people in this universe, such as you and me? Is it possible to go back the way I came? If there are duplicates of people, what has my indigenous self been up to? Is there a version of me still on my home Grid? When did I leave? Does everyone here secretly have tentacles and extra eyes after all? What is expected of me now that I'm here? How long will it take for Valdy to realize I'm not the "good kid" she thinks I am? Are the laws of physics and ethics even the same here? Is the God who's upset about the doily incident the same God who created all the other universes?
Now I'm getting a little bit crazy with my speculations. I should stop now. I should be concerned about matters of non-speculative importance, such as how not to induce this world's Valdy to retract her mysterious statement. This is different from the glass shelf, but it's hard to say how.
Or perhaps she never said that after all, and it really is just my imagination.

Shaqad

Freeze, crash, reboot

Dear Mother and Father,

I had a pleasant dream last night. You read that correctly. I had a pleasant dream. Alright, you probably don't care if it doesn't help my behavior any, but it seems like it should be important, since I can't remember the last pleasant dream I had. In the dream, Valdy and Ms. Aoi the Japanese fairy princess and another lady were running a mimmoth farm and meat factory. We were afraid that the rest of the Europan European government would find out and be angry at us, but so far they hadn't, and we had fun making the evil but tasty mimmoths explode. Maybe I will have more pleasant dreams in the future and it will be less of a hassle to make myself stay asleep.
As it were, I woke up unjustifiably late this morning in a corner of Valdy's tavern. I don't know how I got here, but I'm still barefoot. I appear entirely unharmed, so I probably came here on my own. (Besides, it's unlikely that someone would kidnap me--of all people--only to bring me to a familiar place.) It's curious that I don't remember yesterday evening. The last thing I remember is trying unsuccessfully to take the fluff off of a squished mimmoth and suddenly wondering if I was going to be late for the party. Maybe that's what prompted the dream.
I wish I had something more thorough to report.

Shaqad

Dancing barefoot

Dear Mother and Father,

I should be continuing to report on what happens to me while I am away from you, but I do not know what to report. I went to Mama Valdy's again last night--twice, in fact. At the party, there were a few less-than-familiar people, one of whom I learned was somewhat familiar all: She was the genie I met at Mr. Baron's birthday party, but this time she had a body and a lover. (It was fascinating and kind of sad to watch them interact. They clearly have no idea how fickle and fleeting the in-love state is. They'll both be so devastated when they find out.) Mama Miss Dreamscape wasn't there, although I saw her relative Miss Requiem earlier on. (I had wandered over to see the ponies and sweep off the doorstep if necessary. I don't know why I felt like doing that.) She had business to attend to, so we didn't speak long. But I did glean one thing: When I mentioned that nothing had tried to eat me lately (in response to that ubiquitous "How have you been" question that I still haven't figured out the answer to), she said that sometimes she narrowly escapes being eaten. She probably isn't from around here, so that may not refer to anywhere I might get to, but I should start preparing myself just in case. I will need a good weapon, at the very least. I can't believe I didn't make some when the head-eating alien was about. I cannot live forever on the assumption that the next threat I encounter will be secretly vulnerable to cheese.
Although I did find a beautiful dress my size in a charity place this morning, I was unable to find new boots, and my soiled ones are still wet from a renewed effort at washing them. (If I didn't send you the letter about that, there was an incident in which I stepped on a mimmoth until it died (on purpose) and then had to clean the mess off my boots, which didn't work.) So, I had to go around the city barefoot, ducking inside of buildings whenever possible to keep my toes warm. No one noticed because my new dress is long enough to cover my feet. But when I got to the tavern itself and started dancing as is the proper thing to do when Miss Blackheart plays her songs, I'm sure I made a fool of myself twirling around barefoot. Yet nobody said anything. I shudder to think what sorts of things must be said behind my back, but these people let so many things slide. They act as if they honestly don't care about things like bare feet, and I suspect that may in some cases really be true. In any case, please don't fret about this. It will not destroy me, I swear by The Grid.

Shaqad

Squish!

Dear Mother and Father,

I am writing out of sheer catharsis because my boots are unwearable and it is very cold outside the range of the furnaces. I am therefore compelled to harass some undeserving soul by expressing my misery, and Squeezy doesn't understand speech (or any communication that I know of, for that matter). Please forgive me.
I hope I accomplished something when I made my boots unusable. I saw a mimmoth and felt very angry at it for making Mama Miss Dreamscape lose her house, so I stepped on it until it died of flatness. Now my insides feel very strange: rather gooey and shreddy and unpleasant, but I don't seem to have any other symptoms of sickness. My boots also have mimmoth squishings all over them. I tried to wash the squishings off, but it didn't work, so now my boots are wet and filthy. That makes one more thing to hate the evil mimmoths for. Maybe someday they will be wiped out for good. I hope my boots dry before I need to leave the mine. Perhaps I can get new boots from a rubbish bin or even a charity. Yes, look at me plotting how to not work for things. I probably won't ever send you this letter.
Every other mimmoth I have seen since my tantrum has looked at me strangely with its little wooly face. I think they know what I did to their relative. I hope they don't get together and try avenge him or her later.
I wonder if it is possible to cook mimmoth meat using only the equipment I have on hand. It probably isn't, and I would probably accidentally blow up the world if I tried to cook something without your expert guidance.

Shaqad

Doctrinal dispute

Dear Mother and Father,

Yesterday I went to church. I haven't been to any churches since I left home, as you might have guessed from their absence in my letters. I knew that some churches are full of heretical sinners and that you'd rather I not set foot in them, so I chose to be on the safe side. But this time I was desperate and hoped that at least they could help me with a little, impartial thing. I slipped in behind the pews unnoticed and listened to the sermon with only a little bit of trust, knowing that it could very well have been incorrect as you have said of many sermons in the past. But afterward I stood near a group of nuns until one asked if she could help me. Now, I might have made things easy for myself and gone into excruciating detail about all my insane little dilemmas, but I never have the clarity of thought for that sort of thing, so I merely asked if I could borrow a Bible. They gave me one to keep. I named it Mr. Leather.
As soon as I found a warmish spot (near Mama's Miss Dreamscape's ponies), I started flipping through it. It had an index of cryptically named Books, as I expected, but no real index of subject matter. There was nothing like, "Since my parents are not here to intercede for me, how can I get God to stop being mad at me over the doily incident and all subsequent incidents without their help?" And so I randomly flipped back and forth.
What I did eventually find was that this was not a Christian Bible after all. You raised me to be a Christian and to know about God, whereas this book, although "Holy Bible" was printed on the cover in big golden letters, was full of crazy, incompatible, incomprehensible Roman mythology such as, "For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord." In other places it said, "As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him" and "But when the kindness and love of God our Savior appeared, He saved us, not because of righteous things we had done, but because of His mercy." Who writes this stuff?
The nuns gave me a very peculiar look when I returned Mr. Leather to them and said it wasn't the book I had been looking for. I felt bad.
My quest has not ended. I will find out what to do with my confusing life and my tarnished soul, and I will find how to make the personal acquaintance of your God.

Sincerely yours,
Shaqad

Warmth

Dear Mother and Father,

I regret to inform you that I will not be returning from Steelhead. You may wish to come here to see me when it becomes practical. I know that is an arrogant thing to say, and I ask your forgiveness, but I cannot much help it. To leave here now is unthinkable, and I have sincerely tried to think about it. I wish I could explain my reasons, but as you are both painfully aware, I am far from the most rational creature on The Grid.
You will, on the other hand, be pleased to know that I am actually on The Grid for the time being. I have (thanks mainly to the minty-spice boxes and a bit of willpower) gotten some rest and even made it to Mama Valdy's tavern again. It's in a completely different building than it used to be, but in the same location as before. They said that the previous building got so infested with mimmoths--that is, the tiny, fluffy elephant-like creatures I've described to you in the past--that the only way to stop them was to blow up the whole building. I didn't realize those little things were so much trouble! Next time I get close enough to them, I will need to punish them for their disrespect. On the other hand, Miss Dreamscape made Ms. Steamweaver of the Jaegerpeople give me some leftover meat from the exploded mimmoths, and I am almost certain it was delicious for reasons unrelated to my not having had meat in more than half a year. I must conclude, then, that they do have their uses, although they all deserve Purgatory and worse.
They at least put the extra space from the new building to use: Mama Miss Dreamscape was a dragon. I mean, she was literally a massive reptile with scales and wings. I don't know how that works, though Miss Requiem of the fancy tail had a dragonish form of her own. Nobody was especially perturbed by the change, and she was still mentally herself.
I learnt a little bit about international politics: Steelhead is allied with a place called Steeltopia which is run by an Emperor Calamari. You probably already knew that and are annoyed that I repeated something so obvious.
The aether of the Steamlands was very unstable last night--so much so, in fact, that Miss Dreamscape and Miss Requiem had to stay long into the night battling its anomalies. They must be very powerful in order to take on a force of nature like that. Although by the time they finished up, everyone else who might demonstrate its stability or instability was gone, they were able to claim a stunning victory over their own aetheric fields! It was very impressive.
I admit that if I'd had an actual home to return to, it would have been inappropriate for me to stay the night uninvited. But on the other hand, please consider that I was never invited to leave, either. For what it's worth, I didn't brazenly march upstairs or any such thing. It was too late, dark, and chilly to make the trek back to the mines by then. We spoke of things for a little while, and
She hugged me. Mama Miss Dreamscape hugged me with a wing. It's the strangest thing I've ever experienced (counting all the months I've been in the lands of science and magic). I've snuggled Porridge and squeezed Squeezy, but having an actual person folded around oneself is another thing entirely. You used to pick me up and carry me about when I was smaller, didn't you? I suppose you must have, but I don't remember it very well. I still remember this. It's so strange. I will be unsurprised if my body remembers this "hug" thing for another month or two. I've used the expression "so-and-so needs a hug"; and I have seen lovers embrace, and even family members on occasion. But why in the name of the highest Heaven and deepest Hell would anyone wish to do such a thing to me, of all people? I am so confused. I suspect she may have mistaken me for someone likable. Perhaps she gets a wide variety of ragamuffins invading her home at odd hours and can no longer keep us all straight. Do you think that's possible?
Please don't think I had one of my silly emotional fits at the time. I swear to all the Powers That Be, she has never seen me cry--and so help me, she never will.
In any case, something important has changed. I am not sure how or why. It probably has something to do with hugging. If you were here, I'm certain one or both of you would know exactly what has happened on every level. But I cannot go far from this place anymore. Something has definitely changed. It runs beneath the aether, beneath my thoughts, beneath measurement and quantification. But something has changed.
I'm sorry.

Shaqad

Things I'm thankful for

Dear Mother and Father,

I don't know what's going on. I'm not sure where I am anymore. Squeezy is threatening me, so I believe I am out of my mind. I can't say why that might be. I've gone to visit the minty spice crates regularly to help me fall asleep, and I've continued to fight against the darkness of my dreams. I don't know why this is happening to me.
I tried to go to the party at Miss Dreamscape's tavern, and I heard voices (Mr. Baron's and Miss Captain Nacht's and Miss Blackheart's and others), and then it all faded away. I'm not sure if I ever actually made it there in real life. Am I dreaming right now, or am I awake? Which was I a moment ago? Are those my only options, and are they mutually exclusive? The aether is funny colors, or maybe that is just my mind.
I'm being so negative. I don't know when Thanksgiving Day is, but that's no way to approach it. (I hope when it arrives that I will miraculously be home with you, in any case.) I am thankful for things, I really am. I am thankful to be alive, even though I have been in more than one truly bizarre form of danger in the past. I am thankful for my health, such as it is, and that my cheese gun works well enough to keep me alive. (I will need to find some more chalk to refuel it soon, though.) I am thankful that there are still edible dandelion leaves growing in this part of the continent. I am thankful that Squeezy turned out alright and is with me to squeeze when I'm nervous. I am thankful for my lovely Steamland friends who are kind to me no matter what profoundly stupid things I do, even though it often feels as if the entire Grid is about to tip over from the weight of my unpunished sins. Finally, I am thankful that I had a wonderful Father and Mother to raise me.
I hope you are well.

Love,
Your Shaqad

Cold awakening

Dear God Mother and Father,

I had grown so cold and numb as the weeks and months passed by. I didn't even notice the change. The Engineer family reminded me, though. I'm glad they did and I wish I didn't at the same time. It's the most curious thing. I say I love you and I say it unironically, believing myself. Yet this is all my responsibility. If I were a good daughter, I would have contacted every authority there is to contact. Oh, I wish you had a good daughter! I don't think any of my letters from that time period survived, but during the month when I was by myself beyond the Steamlands, I tried to build you a better daughter out of flesh and thread. I didn't try to build her brain because I figured a mechanic could build a better one. Thinking back on it now, I can see that although my intent was reasonable, it wasn't a new daughter you would want. I'm all you have, your own flesh and blood. It is I who ought to return.
I had a nightmare last night that was different from all the others so far. It was simply a memory. It was a fast-forwarded version of when I was wandering around in the park (yes, that's where I went after our quarrel), and I heard the typical explosion sound, and later in the evening when I had gathered the courage to apologize for everything I went back, except the building wasn't there anymore (It really was unreasonable of the fire department to give up on servicing our building just because the flat blew up a few times a week!) except for the doorsteps, and I waited until there weren't people running about panicking, and then I sat on our doorstep to wait for you to get back, and after only a few days I just got up and left as if you were nothing, as if you weren't coming home at all. I'm so sorry. Mrs. Engineer is right: You must be worried sick. It's all my fault for leaving and all my fault for not getting help sooner. I can't believe I walked off like that. You are my mother and father, my flesh, my blood, my heart, my soul, my guardians and teachers. I am yours alone and I always have been and I always will be...and yet I walked away.
I must do as they recommended and contact the authorities. I've met some very important people so far. Why didn't I ask them for help? (I suppose there was that time right before Halloween when I asked if anyone could take me back to America, but that hardly counts.) Mr. Baron is an authority. Do you think he would mind being asked for help with such things? The Jaegerpeople soldiers, too, must count as authorities. I should have asked Miss Dreamscape directly for help getting back to you! I had plenty of time!
I can't explain why I didn't. I suppose maybe I just gave up. Or perhaps it's that I'm not accustomed to asking for things, knowing how full well much grownups loathe being troubled by my idiotic "needs".
They have town hall meetings regularly, I believe. If I can get to them, there must be plenty of people there who can help me! I really need to get connected to these people. I have seen how kind they are. I cannot believe I have not yet acted on it! But I will. I promise you, I will.

Love, and I truly mean it,
Your Little Lady Shaqad

A quiet yet eventful day

Note to self: Mr. and Mrs. Engineer.
Sorry, just ignore that part. It's for my own reference.

Dear Mother and Father,

I've learned to fight back with my dreams. It's the strangest and most awkward thing. For example, in the dream(s) where you burn away as soon as I come home, I tell myself, "This is so like my other dreams that it is probably a dream itself." Then at the moment you burst into flames, I force myself to turn around and walk away. It hurts almost as much as the dream in its original form, especially when the, "Where do you think you're going, little lady?!" starts, but when it ends I'm able to awaken with barely a whimper. (I do feel a little bit guilty in my waking hours that, without one hundred percent certainty that it's all imagination, I turned my back on the parents who love me and raised me. But I tell myself that this is vitally important to my health.) Although the probably-sent dreams still wake me up, I have been able to sleep with enough regularity to make the mirages go away. Inanimate objects no longer breathe, and Squeezy is no longer threatening to stab me. (Squeezy would never threaten to stab me, and in fact cannot speak. So, in the event that he does speak, I know to disregard his advice.)
I felt very confident today thanks to my renewed grip on reality and went look for food. In the forest outside the city, I was able to pick many edible-looking plants, and while I was there a lady by the name of Ms. Vervain pointed me in the direction of a store that had had a special on sewing needles. (I think the special ended before I got there, though.) She was very nice and thought I was clever for some reason. I'm sort of fuzzy on how this all happened.
It really was an eventful day. In one rubbish heap near a hair salon, I got a very nice, almost new hat! It has a fluffy ornament on one side that I keep unconsciously petting. I don't want to try to remove it, but I hope my continually touching it doesn't make me look childish.

Later on I met a couple who were visiting Steelhead with their young son. (He was considerably younger than me, so even if the family had great wealth and status, I do not think he ought to be considered a future suitor.) It's they whose names I scrawled at the top of this page. Just like absolutely everyone else I've met here, although they were not native to the area, they were friendly and helpful. But they went beyond that: They are the first people so far to show concern about my predicament of being away from you. According to them, this is because they are parents themselves. They were genuinely horrified that I was so far away from home and tried to think of what to do about it, although they had little power to do anything themselves. I remember that when I first got lost, for the first few weeks, that was my mentality. But have I stopped missing you? Have I stopped trying? I want to say no, but I realize I have been foolish. As the Engineer family reminded me, I should have involved the authorities. In fact, I should have contacted some sort of authorities right from the start. (When is the start? Is it the first day I failed to find you, or the first day I failed to find the place our flat once stood, or the first day I failed to find Boston, or the day I arrived in the Steamlands?) In any case, may God forgive my disgusting negligence! I just hope they aren't too strict on the "Children should be seen and not heard," policy.
There was that time in Winterfell around Halloween when I asked if anyone leaving might be able to take me back to the United States of America, but at the time they couldn't.
Anyhow, they told me to remember their names and contact them if I needed help, which is why I've defaced the top of the page as I have. I don't want to forget.
Mr. Engineer kept asking if I might want to adopt his son. His wife insisted he was joking, but I bet you would like a son. Isn't that what you always said, father? I wonder what life would be like if you had a son. I'm sure you'd be much happier.
In my whole conversation with them, I only said one thing that made them stop and look at me strangely. (It was about kissing and I shan't repeat it here.) Perhaps I am becoming a better conversationalist.
After they went on their way, I really wasn't sure where to go home to. The whole city was very, very quiet. There wasn't even a wandering strain of those songs Miss Blackheart plays at the tavern. I really wasn't sure where to go (back?) to. I ended up finally retreating down to the mines again. Since there aren't any monsters left that I know about, I feel reasonably safe down there. Shortly after entering, I nearly drowned in an underground stream because it looked shallow but wasn't. As you can tell by the existence of this letter, I did manage to get out.
Nearby I found a very cozy spot with some natural sheltering from the surrounding stone. There are two furnaces there, one in the stone-sheltering and one just beyond it, so it's much warmer than you would expect in a mine. There's not really any room to put my things down, but it's a nice little place and I think I feel comfortable staying there. Not too far away, someone else set up a sleeping mat, but I know better than to intrude on their corner. They can have their corner and I'll have mine. (I already swept it out, and Squeezy is all the pillow I'll need.) I just hope I don't fall in the water again when I venture back out! Or if the water turns out to be clean enough, I could perhaps give myself swimming lessons so that I'm not at risk of getting myself into trouble that way.
Good night for now.

Love,
Your Shaqad

This is home

Dear Mother and Father,

Because I feel so wonderfully safe in the city now, and because inanimate objects have yet to start breathing and wandering around, I wandered across the city until I found Miss Dreamscape's tavern. (Actually, I was afraid to go, but Mr./Miss Bermann politely reminded me that there was a party and I'd probably be welcome. And I was!)
At first I wasn't so sure I would be welcome, but Miss Steamweaver (the Jaegerperson, not the honnio-fairy-I-don't-honestly-know-what-she-is) noticed me outside and invited me in. Then I slipped and fell in the water before I managed to get myself inside, but nobody minded having a soaking mess in their midst. (I'm glad the water is safe from monsters again!)
It was a quiet evening, but people I knew were there. It was very, very comforting to see them again. I should try to see them more often if it's possible.
I got a bit of a start from Miss Captain Nacht tonight by dancing on a table, though I promise you it wasn't a condemning sort of start. I would have danced on the ground like usual, but I didn't feel sharp enough to fiddle with the knowing-how-to-dance machine at the time, and I figured that in light of how often people do the table dancing thing, it must be an accepted part of their culture. In fact, Miss Blackheart was doing it right then. I also couldn't forget that Miss Dreamscape had done the same before, looking so elegant in her peacock trouser-dress and top hat. (The feral aspect of the Jaegerpeople's appearance can be gotten used to. It's true that they don't look like humans, but they don't need to. They don't need to look like anything.) So I must confess that when I got my awkward, worn-out, raggedy little self up onto the table and tried to imitate her graceful movements from memory, for that brief time I felt so close to being pretty! I'm sure I sound utterly ridiculous right now, but it was a very uplifting moment. I wish I could feel like that all the time. Mother, you are a lady of noble heritage. Do you feel like that all the time?
Someday I promise you and me that I will be pretty for real, both in appearance and behavior. You may have to suffer a slow transition, but I will get there. There is loveliness in this world and I want so much to be a part of it. That's what you always wanted for me, isn't it?

Yours foremost and forever,
Shaqad

Good news and bad news

Dear Mother and Father,

This evening I woke up at a most unearthly hour, which has unfortunately been the norm for me since making camp between warehouse boxes. It's hard to keep track of the time when one spends most of the day and night near something that makes one sleepy. (Yet even though I always feel as if I'm risking my life, I do try my best to get out of the building when people are going to come in to move things around. It's kept me out of trouble so far, and I've not died either.) I realized first of all that I had missed both the Winterfell poetry slam and Mama Miss Dreamscape's party. But there were other things--possibly things of greater magnitude--to take in. The aether felt completely different than when I fell asleep. It felt different in the same way that outside air feels compared to a little broom closet with funny cleaning chemicals in it--though of course aether doesn't have the same properties as air. I very strongly suspect that something happened to the evil alien--either it died, or it went back to its home dimension, or maybe it even repented of its sins. I'll have to ask someone, if I can figure out how to work it into a conversation, assuming I have conversations with people in the near future.
The other thing of note, which I think is even stronger evidence that something important happened to the monster, is that my dreams have reverted to the way they are outside of Steelhead. The mint boxes may not be of help anymore. It was a nightmare that woke me up. In fact, it was the same one whose many variations have been haunting me ever since I ran away from home: It's where I come back--finally--and try to apologize for running off in the first place, and you both are trying to help me understand how sinful I've been so I can repent properly, and then the place explodes just like it always does every few days, but in the dream you both catch on fire and just slowly burn away like squidgey Yule logs right in front of me so that you're unrecognizable lumps of ash and bone before you can finish talking. I was almost immune to that one before sea alien brought on the decapitations-and-mild-apocalypses series of dreams. I used to wake up a tiny bit sniffly and then go back to sleep, but I've lost the ability to get back to sleep after that, and even after my month in the middle of nowhere I've not regained it. This is all to say nothing of the others, though I haven't had time to have those again yet. They did, as I mentioned in my earlier letters, all come back in full as soon as I ran away from Steelhead the first time.
Mrs. Lowey said that nightmares can be blocked, but only if they are "sent". I don't think very many of my non-Steelhead-monster nightmares are sent. The ones where the Egyptian Sparkperson who gave the lectures on electricity and psychology brings about the end of the universe may possibly be "sent", I still suspect. (I'm sorry, Father. I know I can be most dreadfully paranoid and irrational at times. I really do respect his accomplishments and hope you succeed in matching his notability someday.)
I'm really not sure what to do. I know I was able to grow desensitized to all this before, somehow or other. Do I only need to wait until that happens again?
I suppose time will tell.

Love,
Your Shaqad

Catniiiiiiiiippppppppppppp...

Dear Mother and Father,

I've had to return to Steelhead in spite of my apprehension about being murdered by sea aliens. The turning point came yesterday (or so I believe; it's difficult to tell time when the sun doesn't move, and I'm beginning to see why clocks are such a common motif in Steamland culture). An unpleasant incident occurred when I was unable to distinguish a mirage from a customer. Even now I'm uncertain. The creature in question looked unlike anyone or anything I've seen yet, but that in itself means nothing in the Steamlands. Perhaps "living shadow" might cover it in part. I might have called it a mirage due to its disregard for basic physics, but between my state of mind and the instability of Steamland aether in general, that proves nothing whatsoever. I would also like to call it a mirage because it frightened me--simply from the hatred that dripped from it--but trying to define all of reality based on one's feelings toward it is thoroughly ridiculous. The shadow entity was very interactive and tried to hurt me, which made me more confused as to whether it existed. I suppose I should explain: I was confused because it wanted to cut open my hysteria scar with a Sparkish sort of instrument so that it would put a little mechanical thing underneath my skin. You and I and the doctors at Crimson Falls who performed the surgery are the only ones who know about the scar. I have never disrobed in front of anybody here nor had any kind of medical treatment. Admittedly, people occasionally hear some of my thoughts during run-of-the-mill aetheric fluctuations, but I am not in the habit of thinking about my scar in public. In fact, I hardly remember it's there most of the time. So this is a major strike against the visitor's existence. Also, when it left, there were no marks from where it tried to hurt me. But the little mechanical thing did still need to be taken out and burned (so now there are marks). Or maybe I just imagined that as well? The whole incident was and is deeply unsettling.
After that happened, I could no longer handle not knowing reality from my waking nightmares. I could no longer handle visits by people who may or may not exist. I had to go find the minty spice, and maybe even the sea alien's dream-intrusions, that had gotten me to sleep a few days before Halloween so that the mirages subsided.
When I arrived in Steelhead, the aether felt different than before, and not simply from the cloud of madness I had been carrying with me everywhere. It felt as if it might be in flux, struggling with itself over whether to become cleaner, or maybe lighter somehow. I wonder if anything became of that wicked sea monster.
I did eventually find the warehouse I slept in before, and I was able to sleep again. It was beautifully dreamless and corrected everything. I love to live in the world of no mirages again!
Now that I am here, I am not sure what I will do. I mean, I know what kinds of things a proper and industrious lady ought to do with her life, but I have no plan yet to go about it.
I will keep you updated as long as I am able to hold a pen.
Love everlasting,
Your Shaqad

Still alive

Dear Mother and Father,

There was another poetry slam tonight, which was very nice because I was getting tired of being alone with the mirages. I haven't slept since leaving Steelhead (again), and the mirages started around the third day (again). But I am okay. I know not to listen to them. As much as possible will listen to myself and to real memories of those I trust (including you, of course), and never to mirages.
I was at first very confused as to whether the poetry slam was really happening, but the smooth way the people interacted seemed reasonably convincing. That is, up until near the end, when two of them (a Jaegerperson of high rank by the name of Szondi and a weasel Tinyperson with a pet weasel) confessed to nonexistence. I was a little bit disappointed, as I'd been treating them as though they were real. They seemed like delightful people, in fact.
I happened to sit next to Mr. Captain Veles again, and this time the mantle seating was by explicit invitation, though of course all these matters are of no consequence. I ought to be concerned that everyone thought it so important to get me seated properly. When I was sitting awkwardly on the floor at first, they inquired as to whether I needed medical attention for my legs. How awful that would have been!
Now that it's in mind, I shall need to do a check of my legs just to make sure they aren't damaged. I will confess that my perception of pain and injury has been noticeably distorted ever since the hysteria surgery. That hurt for I don't know how many weeks, and then nothing ever hurt quite the same way again. I thought that was a good thing, but perhaps not.
It's so very sweet that they inquire about my well-being.
It's funny, as much as I regretted causing them to worry, I also experienced a strange rush from the attention. (Forgive my self-centered vanity!) It seems almost probable that Miss Dreamscape asking about me when I tumbled out the window was less an emotion-fit of hers and more a deep-seated aspect of the local culture. I do believe I have come to love this place, not only in spite of but also because of its sheer strangeness. If you will permit it, I think it would please me to live here and marry here and study here and establish myself here when I'm old enough to be permanently on my own. Please don't be upset at my words; I'm not living by my "feelings" just yet. I do wish for your input before making any foolish commitments.
Some interesting topics were discussed tonight, though I won't presume either of you would find them to be such. I did learn that there are zombies in the Steamlands, but the only dangerous ones are in a place I've never even heard of called New Toulouse. (The Steelhead zombies, they said, are civilized. That's to be expected, as everything else there was quite civilized except for the brain-eating extradimensional alien monster that I've never even met in person.)
At the end of the evening, Mrs. Lowey thanked me for attending. (She's so nice to me!) But she really has no idea how little I've strayed from this place since last time! I "help watch the place" because I really have nowhere else to go at the moment. I wish I could help selflessly--and correctly, and well, and all those other lovely things--but I think I have psychological okayness issues to work on before that ideal is reached. I know, I know, it's not good for me to be so self-centered, but people worry when I'm not okay. Really, they do! I have experiential evidence!
I'm sorry, that's enough ranting for tonight. Do take care.
Love,
Shaqad

Halloween alone

Dear Mother and Father,

I haven't left Der Hut des Jaeger since Thursday evening. Strangely, I'm beginning to feel a trifle lonesome, although I do spend so much time by myself no matter what. Last month, at least, I had all manner of fantastical mirages to keep me company. I've been using the time to improve Squeezy, so that now it's at the point where it can move on its own when I set it down on the floor. Still, Squeezy is not an intelligent lifeform and isn't quite what one would call "company", no matter how wonderful a pillow it makes.
Tonight will most likely be the most hazardous night of the year. I wonder how all my friends are doing. Is Mrs. Lowey safe when she "shifts between planes", or will she accidentally end up in some Elder Thing's lair? Will Miss Dreamscape defeat the sea monsters? Are Miss Gearbox and Mr. Bayn safe from said sea monsters? How is Miss Blackheart managing her magical powers? Has Mr. Paine gotten himself into any more trouble? Is Miss Corryong's life as perfect as she is? Does Mr./Miss Bermann have everthing he/she needs?
I wish there were someone I could ask about all this. In fact, some of those things I should have just asked on Thursday, if I had been able to think of it with so many people around.
I imagine you two are still safe, as Boston was never one of the more aetherically unstable parts of the world. Do enjoy yourselves, whatever you may be doing!
Love,
Your Shaqad

Back to square one

Dear Mother and Father,
I'm back to where I "started", so to speak: I'm spending the night in that little tavern in Winterfell. I did miss the gingerbread, I'll admit, though of course that isn't why I'm here. A girl from Steelhead gave me a copy of the Landmark I'd dropped earlier, so I had a chance to go back again--to someplace that wasn't Steelhead nor the middle of nowhere. I took that chance, and it felt like returning home.
The place was quite crowded this time, and the aether could barely handle all the projectiles in motion! Some of the people I was so glad to see again I could hardly stand it (though I composed myself!), and some people were here whom I had never seen before, most of the latter category being close to my age. But they weren't like the Boston children who look at me strangely no matter what I'm doing. They were very polite and courteous, and the girl who gave me the Landmark was all in all very sweet. I think there is an actual chance of making friends my own age!
I got to sit next to Mr. Captain Veles this time--not that that means anything to me or anyone else, of course. It's just a minor observation.
The theme this time was Halloween, and if you remember my reasons for running off on the lovely Steelhead folks, you will know that Halloween is not a good theme for me to hear about at this point in my life. Indeed, I had intended to just stop by for the poetry slam and then follow somebody home to find secure lodging, but after a steady stream of unsettling poems, I decided not to go anywhere after all. (Nobody reacted helpfully to my inquiry about being taken back to America. If only...)
One thing of note that separated tonight from every other night was that I had found a poem. I didn't read it, of course. Somebody else had a poem by the same author, and I would have felt strange drawing attention to myself anyhow. It's this poem by Mr. Lovecraft, the only writer I know of who ever expressed interest in little Dunwich, and it's called Hallowe'en in the Suburbs:

The steeples are white in the wild moonlight,
And the trees have a silver glare;
Past the chimneys high see the vampires fly,
And the harpies of upper air,
That flutter and laugh and stare.

For the village dead to the moon outspread
Never shone in the sunset’s gleam,
But grew out of the deep that the dead years keep
Where the rivers of madness stream
Down the gulfs to a pit of dream.

A chill wind blows through the rows of sheaves
In the meadows that shimmer pale,
And comes to twine where the headstones shine
And the ghouls of the churchyard wail
For harvests that fly and fail.

Not a breath of the strange grey gods of change
That tore from the past its own
Can quicken this hour, when a spectral power
Spreads sleep o’er the cosmic throne,
And looses the vast unknown.

So here again stretch the vale and plain
That moons long-forgotten saw,
And the dead leap gay in the pallid ray,
Sprung out of the tomb’s black maw
To shake all the world with awe.

And all that the morn shall greet forlorn,
The ugliness and the pest
Of rows where thick rise the stones and brick,
Shall some day be with the rest,
And brood with the shades unblest.

Then wild in the dark let the lemurs bark,
And the leprous spires ascend;
For new and old alike in the fold
Of horror and death are penned,
For the hounds of Time to rend.

It's most dreadfully gloomy, perhaps to an even greater degree than the poems that did get read tonight. Instead of that one, I found myself repeating near-silently to myself the little rhyme the parson in our first neighborhood used to say sometimes.

The stars have got aligned again:
It isn't if, but merely when.
The hills may roar, the earth may shake,
But we've got hope no power can break,
For patterned stars and shattered minds
Can never touch the Love that binds
Our souls to God upon His throne,
Though in the flesh we stand alone.
So hold Him tight throughout the night;
His grace will hold us strong--
The whip-poor-wills can't bear you any place you don't belong.
So don't you ever tremble at the wonders in the sky:
For we know at the end of things, Death itself shall die.

It's strange, since I know his theology is entirely heretical next to yours. Why did I even retain that poem in my memory? I guess it's not uncharacteristic of me to recall irrelevancies above things of import.
Yet, I really do need a lot of comforting right now. I'm squeezing Squeezy right now, and it's helping a little, but not to the point where I'd be interested in going outside.
The Jaegerpeople were joking about eating brains tonight, but I know they wouldn't really do it. They're such a lovely bunch, and if they wanted to go on a brain-eating spree, they would have done it by now.
Did I mention that Mama Valdy Miss Dreamscape was here? She had things she needed to urgently focus on, though, so she barely got to interact with anybody. On the bright side, she doesn't seem obviously upset at me. Of course, either way it's best to keep my distance. If she really is upset, that could be dangerous. If she still likes me by some miracle, I oughtn't test her patience. That would be like collecting all the most beautiful glass Christmas ornaments in the world and taking a bath in them.
You know, I'm a bit worried about the Steelhead citizens who aren't Jaegerpeople. What if someone like Miss Gearbox, who gave me the Landmark, were gone tomorrow due to a head-stealing alien attack? I think I would feel rather guilty.
I'm glad at least you're safe back home in Boston where there are no monsters.

Love always,
Your Shaqad

Regarding this blog

((Okay...I guess I haven't had much luck hand writing my blog entries, either. How many media have I attempted this in so far? Okay...let's see...with this format, I guess I can sprinkle the illustrations among typed-out text. Will that be okay? I guess if typing works out for everyone else...))

((Here goes...))



((P.S. This is my first entry on the blog. I've dated things according to when they happened to my character rather than when I wrote them.))

Flash Fiction [third person]

((Okay, I don't think I'm going to submit this to Canolli Capolini's Flash Fiction contest thingy, but I did want to see if I could get this entry a)done and b)within the 600-word limit, since I'm usually the most verbose creature in the world. I may have broken Second Life TOS by quoting Miss Dreamscape directly from a private log, but it's only one in-character line and I don't think she'd mind too much, in spite of the bleh quality of the context. Here's what I came up with.))

It was funny to think that Shaqad had once been afraid of locomotives. Here she was riding one of her own free will for the second time, and fear was the last thing on her mind. Actually, that last part was strangest of all: Her first trip was to hide from a monster, which was still there. But this time...this time she was going to make lemonade from life's lemons.
"Mirage Mother," she said to the hypnogogic hallucination beside her, "do you think my real parents will like the new me?"
"Don't be silly," the hallucination replied. "We are your real parents."
"Speak for yourself," said the hallucination of her father. "I still say it was the milk man."
The first hallucination rolled her eyes.
Shaqad took the unfinished construct head out of her unreasonably voluminous pocket. "I did the best I could," she whispered.
"The seams are very messy," remarked Mirage Mother. "It's hard to believe it's your best."
"It's a decent first try!" Mirage Mrs. Lowey offered.
(Meanwhile, the only other passenger on the train who actually existed got up and discreetly moved to another car.)
"I know I could do better," Shaqad decided, trying not to let her imagination's words impact her, "but this is really very urgent. This needs to be sewn onto my body before it gets unusable, and the Sparkpeople still need to give it a nice brain--"
"You shouldn't always rely on other people!" interrupted Mirage Father.
"Oh, but Father, you know how I am with machines! I'm doing this for you. I want the new me to be perfect. She--I'll be part construct and part clank, better than what nature did! I'll be clever and talented and"--here she locked eyes with her "mother"--"friendly and charming and graceful, and everyone will love me!" Shaqad took a deep, wavering breath. "Even you."
"It dun make senze, though," said Mirage Valdyr. "Forst hyu run away from der monster, und then hyu run right beck to it to keel hyuself?"
"Oh, but I'm not killing myself!" exclaimed Shaqad. "I'll only have my head replaced! The King of the Whippoorwills just said to 'Go home'. He didn't say how much of me."
She gazed out the perpetually reshaping window at a grove of trees that was playing ball with an uprooted rosebush. A solitary farmhouse stood nearby, slowly melting onto the grass.
"I wish the mirages would stop," she remarked.
"Well," said Mirage Mother, "it's as the Whippoorwill said. God punishes children for staying up a week past their bedtime."
Shaqad sighed, then smiled brilliantly. "The new me won't do such silly things. I bet she won't even have nightmares."
Just then, the subway train came to a stop in the middle of Steelhead. It took Shaqad, in her sleep-addled haze, almost a minute to notice, but when she did, she gathered her things and rushed out.
Unfortunately, the door frame in her world was melting; she misjudged what to hold onto and fell spectacularly onto the cobblestone.
"Ach! Are hyu hokay, Mizz Ashbourne?" cried Mirage Valdyr.
And then her world came apart at the seams. It was a quote from her memory: A real quote from a real person, and that gave it power. Where were her defenses? Tears came; she permitted them.
"Get up, Little Lady! You're embarrassing me!" Mirage Mother scolded. But that no longer mattered, for her world was undone. In this strange new universe, quite possibly, she was not okay. Even more strangely...it mattered.
Less than an hour later, she had stumbled into a warehouse full of soothing mint and cried herself to sleep. She awoke two days after that, having shed all her plans and waking dreams.

She never found the construct head again.

Up past bedtime

((Transcript with corrected spelling and slightly improved punctuation:
Dear Mother and Father,

I appear to have had a religious experience.
After I had been standing in the corner for three days, a magical bird appeared to me and told me secrets, but some of them were lies.

He told me you two were dead, so I tried to hurt him with a tree branch, but he flew away every time.
I love you very much.
I saw you today, but I knew you were a mirage.
...took the rags out of my stuffed raccoon...
...now re-stuff it to make it more squeezable, like so...

...stitching together organelles...
...microorganism not so micro...
...very squeezable...
...with squidgy things from off The Grid...
I will name the cootie version of my raccoon Squeezy.
...Really wish mirages of you would stop telling me what a bad job I'm doing.

The Whippoorwill says the mirages are God's punishment for staying up so late past my bedtime. How many days has it been?
I don't know how seriously to take him because he lies and also told me to kill all my friends and arrange their bodies like so:
I think he's mad.
Anyway, I love you very much.

Love,
Shaqad
))

As the shock dies down

Dear Mother and Father,

In case you were curious, the locomotive took me to a house for sale and a large garden. I have not seen any people yet. I've been here for a day and a half but not yet seen any people. It serves me right, really, to be alone after abandoning everyone in the whole Grid who thinks more of me than of a heap of dirt. I can't believe how pathetic I am. Why did I do that? I certainly didn't increase their odds of survival by taking off like that. What was I thinking? No, I suppose I wasn't thinking. I was feeling. I do that constantly. Looking over past letters I have waiting to be sent home to you, I see a sickening recurrence of phrases like "I felt". How could I let a stupid thing like this control me when there are more important things to do? With God as my Witness, I swear on my honor as a lady and a woman that I will not abandon those close to me out of fear or any other frivolous emotion.
Do you think it will be necessary and possible to catch some future train back to Steelhead? The grasses and the walls of the buildings around me have begun to shift and breathe a bit for some reason, so I'm concerned that it may be not be a simple task to undo my foolish mistake.
Would you like to know more about my last night at the tavern? I met new people, so maybe you would like to know.
The two who stick in my mind are Ms. Aaoee the Chinese fairy princess (except they call them "honnio" over there) and Ms. Requiem the vampire witch, both friends of Mama Miss Dreamscape's. "Fairy princess" gives a decent impression of Ms. Aaoee, but you really wouldn't expect a vampire witch to be like Ms. Requiem. She's nothing like the witches of Dunwich: She was trying to help Miss Blackheart the music lady with the latter's magical powers so that everyone could fight against the evil monster better. She's also nothing like the vampires in storybooks: Far from being a beastly abomination, she is beautiful, elegant, confident, and cultured--so much so that she reminds me of my own beloved Mother. Perhaps all the people who wrote stories about vampires were ignorant about what kind of creatures they really are. In fact, Ms. Requiem looks more like an angel than anything else. Do you suppose vampires might be a misunderstood breed of angel?
The two of them and Mr. Paine were talking about a Yucoozah. I don't know any Chinese, but it sounds like a kind of boat.
Mr. Paine was there looking alive, well, and human. I'm so very glad things turned out okay for him.
There was a clank-person called Anevka who looked and acted exactly like a human except for a wind-up key on her back which made explosions in distant locations when wound too tightly. You like clanks, don't you, Father?
My filthy digression is not fooling anyone. I know I've been bad. If it helps any, I've located a corner and am standing in it, thinking about what I did. When we next meet, you may want to pray for my soul (not that I deserve it, of course). I wish the corner would hold still. I don't think my head is quite right. Perhaps that follows naturally from my heart not being right.

Love,
Shaqad

This world has experienced a fatal error

Dear Mother and Father,

I have sinned. I have abandoned from not only you two but also Miss Dreamscape. I am afraid. I left without permission on a train--yes, a train--because there are more frightening things in this world now than trains. I'm on the train right now, as I write this, and I'm barely even thinking about that fact.
Those dreams I mentioned are real. That's a strange thing to say, but everyone who gathered at Mama Valdy's this evening was talking about the head-stealing monster as if it were real. Okay, that's not too shocking in itself given what I've already seen since coming here. I mean, I knew from the stories that places like this had fearsome alien monsters from beyond the Grid, though the cleaned-up versions the neighbors told me only had them trapping ladies in music boxes and forcing them to dance. But it gets worse: The grownups were afraid. They were worried. They didn't know what to do. I am in a city full of Sparkpeople and Jaegerpeople and magical creatures and clanks! If something has the adults worried, this city is in deep trouble. I did not expect anything like this to happen. I guess this is why Miss Dreamscape has been out hunting so much lately, but I didn't expect anything this serious. If she can survive falling from the upper atmosphere, I'm sure she can survive a confrontation with an evil pointy sea alien, but what if she never finds it? What if it can hide magically, and what if it kills everyone in Steelhead who can be killed? I didn't think people could die in the Steamlands. Mr. Baron said they had the medical technology to raise the dead. What of that? What's the problem? Miss Blackheart said they don't resurrect royalty (So much for being a princess!), but that does not begin to cover all of this. This world is so much more complicated and scary than my worst nightmares had hinted.
I'm so stupid. Nobody else is running away. They even said that since Mama Valdy's is high above the water, there's less of a chance that the monster will climb that far. I'm so stupid. I left myself more vulnerable running out in the middle of the night to find a train than I ever was huddled under the bed on the top floor of the barracks. I made it here alive, though. What does that mean?
I don't know where I'm going. The old subway station was nearly shut down and there was only one area other than Steelhead that it still goes to. I've never heard of that other place, so I don't know where I'm going. With my luck, I'll be even farther from you than before, but there's a teeny chance I'll find some way to get home.
Will I be any safer outside of Steelhead? They listed places that don't have monsters. But if the Steelhead people can't handle this, how could anyone else? It might get stronger and spread its territory. There might even be more of its kind out there. Is it only a matter of time? May God in Heaven help us all!
I am glad that at least you are a long distance from the sea alien. I hope you remain safe forever.

Love,
Shaqad

Plateau

Dear Mother and Father,

While I've not seen the outside of the tavern except for the roof in a few weeks, I really am quite comfortable here. Even though my peculiar dreams leave me a wee bit nervous as to what may be "out there", I know cognitively that I am very safe here and can see that all around me. In fact, the first thing I see when I wake up is a rack of spears through the open door of the bedchamber. If a monster like in my dreams were to attack, I would be well equipped to defend myself. This is all to say nothing of Mama Miss Dreamscape, whom I suspect would enjoy doing to any hostile creatures what Porridge would do to squirrels. (In case you're wondering, I have yet to seriously upset her that I know of. I wonder how long I can keep this going. I give her and anything that seems important to her, e.g. her hats, as much space as possible, although I've seen little hints and flickers that she knows where I am in the building at all times: another thing that reminds me of Porridge. I'm still tiptoeing along that beautiful glass shelf. I haven't slipped and broken anything yet. I wonder how much more time there is.) Even when she is out guarding the city, all the military weapons comfort me. Sometimes I go on the roof and practice swishing them about just in case I ever need to defend myself, which I know is highly unlikely in a world full of responsible adults. In fact, it is probably downright redundant in light of what Mr. Baron said about the state of Steamland medical science. I bet I could jump right off the side of this roof here and go sploopht on the ground and all the madboys and madgirls would come and fix me up good as new. They would probably be angry at me, though, so I'll do no such thing. In fact, sometimes I wonder about the time I fell out the ground-story window. I still haven't been punished for that yet. Do you think they've already forgotten about it?
I still think about you constantly and love you very much, although the glass shelf does preoccupy me at times.

Love,
Shaqad

Madgirl in the flesh

Dear Mother,

You know the girl with whom Mr. Baron danced at her birthday last week, whose name turned out to be Clarabella Corryong? Last night I met her in person. The contrast between her and me was almost physically painful to observe. There is nothing wrong with her. She is clever and friendly and well-dressed and tidy and pretty. She is even a Spark, complete with her own minions. I cannot help but think that she must have the happiest parents in the world. Why does God make flawless people like her and then make people like me? I suppose only the greatest saints and philosophers know. I already sort of miss the contented state in which I didn't know anything about her. But that's no way to look at life, is it? I suppose the best thing to do is spend time around her and try to become more like her. Maybe I should give her my sewing book as a peace offering. I'm sure she could get more out of it than I can. Perhaps when we are both older, keeping close to her will grant me access to more high-caliber suitors.
I learned about other people, too. For example, Miss Captain Nacht is a captain of Mr. Baron's swordpeople. All this time I've been calling her simply "Miss Nacht". I hope she's not been offended.
I also learned through casual conversation that Miss Dreamscape is older even than Mr. Captain: She is in her six hundreds. Suddenly I'm even more nervous in her presence than before, knowing that I may very well be remembered centuries from now (and not just as a disembodied name connected to wondrous accomplishments). Unless I am as boring to her as a snail on a fencepost, she will hold memories of the real me, the one who makes mistakes all the time and doesn't know how to talk to her friends and hits the target throwing thing when she means to touch the dancing machine and trips over her own feet. As much as I want to finish the unfinished parts of your lives for you, as your daughter and the heir of your dreams, I don't think I personally want to be remembered as the real, fallible bundle of errors I was.
I indirectly tried to learn a bit about the condition of Mr. Paine, who collapsed last week. I was informed that he is still alive but somehow changed. I do hope he isn't ill! I should have stayed up and helped nurse him to health! Not that I would have had any inkling what to do without careful instructions, but still, I shouldn't have just left the scene like that.
Lastly, I met a shapeshifting lady personally invited by Miss Dreamscape. She had a different last name, but when she took on a humanlike form, I could see a family resemblance between the two. Before that, she was a partly human-shaped dragon. I've never met a dragon-type being before. Although she told me not to be afraid because she didn't like the taste of humans, she really didn't need to. No matter what her native culture has forced her to do in the past, Miss Dreamscape had trusted her enough to bring her in, and that was all I needed. Assurances were redundant. Though I'm still no good at interaction, it's always nice to make the acquaintance of decent people.

Love,
Shaqad

Clara's birthday

Dear Mother and Father,

Some interesting things happened last night, although I didn't actually go downstairs like I ought to have. I fell asleep in the middle of the evening, and by the time I awoke, quite a few people had already gathered downstairs. I heard Mr. Baron's voice and many others, including some I'm sure I've never heard before. It was apparently the birthday of a girl not too far from my age named Clara Corryong. (There was another voice belonging to someone young, but only one birthday.) She must have been very important, because Mr. Baron invited her to dance with him. (Mother, I promise you that if this Corryong girl did anything to earn her status, I will find out what it was and do it myself.) I would have been mortified to stride downstairs in the middle of all that as if I owned the place, so I tried my very best to stay quiet. (I had my things all over the floor, though, so it wasn't easy.)
I overheard various things of various importance from upstairs. In a discussion about getting through transport checkpoints, Miss Dreamscape implied that the Jaegerpeople do indeed know that they look a bit intimidating to others. I hadn't known that, and I hope I've never offended any of them by being inappropriately intimidated! Also, Mr. Baron said that Mrs. Lowey wasn't feeling well. I hope it's nothing serious! The Sparkpeople know what to do when someone isn't feeling well, don't they? Finally, through many different indirect remarks, I gathered that one of the people downstairs was a doll of some kind. I do wish I could have seen her!
The most memorable and alarming thing happened after the party itself, when Miss Corryong and Mr. Baron were already gone. A friend of Miss Dreamscape's, a Mr. Paine, had wandered in late and got a little bit too adventurous with the beverages. It is sensible that one ought to exercise more caution than normal when a bar contains ingredients meant for multiple species, but I guess that would be easy to forget in some social settings. The end result was that he got so sick that he collapsed and the Jaegerladies were going to take him upstairs for emergency medical treatment! I got my things put away and went back to bed before I had a chance to get in their way, and in the morning he wasn't anywhere around. I hope that's a good sign and that he wasn't carted off to the morgue! Miss Dreamscape doesn't appear to be in mourning for her friend, so I must hope for the best.
I don't know that anyone noticed me last night, or at least I don't think they noticed with certainty. Ms. Steamweaver asked if Miss Dreamscape had company at one point when I shuffled a bit too loudly, but there was no follow-up that I could hear. Of course, I've gotten the impression that Miss Dreamscape naturally knows where I am most of the time, just as Porridge did with her kitty senses, so I wouldn't rule out my having drawn more notice than the audible conversation betrayed.
I hope I haven't irritated anyone yet with my presence or lack of presence or anything in between!
Love,
Shaqad

A humble prayer

Dear Mother and Father,

I've been praying to God lately. Please don't be angry at me for going behind your backs. Let me explain: Do you remember that dream I described earlier where the Queen of Hearts called a monster to tear off my head? I have had many more like it. They are delightfully mundane compared to what I used to dream about, but they have been gradually escalating to become more and more horrific. The thing that alarms me, I suppose, is that the aether seems to resonate with them, as if some part of them existed somewhere outside my mind. It makes me most shamefully paranoid. I have taken to checking dark corners whenever I move to a different room. It is an embarrassing condition, but when I say a prayer before and after my dreams, they are milder and I feel better throughout the day.
Now I see what my problem is: I have been allowing myself to be led around by my feelings like a pitiful little marionette. I am a creature of flesh, cast adrift by the tempest of my frivolous passions. Forgive me, Mother and Father. It will not happen again.
The unauthorized prayers end today.

Love,
Your Shaqad

Little tedious apprehensions

Dear Mother and Father,

Things are going surprisingly well. I don't know how that can be. I have been trying to stuff the raccoon I brought home back to the tavern, and yesterday I attempted to use the formaldehyde. I spilled a few drops on the floor and could not clean them out no matter how hard I tried. I was so sure Miss Dreamscape was going to kill me, but she didn't speak a word about it. Does this mean she'll be more upset about it later for not letting her know? I know I should get out of here while I'm still physically able to, but some strange emotional pull is keeping me from doing so. It isn't even that my dreams in Steelhead are so fanciful as to be a great relief from the more realistic nightmares. It isn't even one hundred percent related to her, though it has quite an impact on anything that is related to her. The thing is, the Steamlands people like me, or in any case act as if they do. I want to follow them around pretending everything is okay until I can't pretend anymore. It's so irrational, yet I'm so weak I can't help myself. Surely there isn't much more time before all this pretending I deserve their courtesy takes its toll. What happens then? Thus, I flee from thoughts of this future that so frightens me. Now if I could start deserving their courtesy, that, I suppose, would solve everything. If only, if only!

With love,
Shaqad

Your object 'Shaqad' has been returned to your inventory

My Dearest and Most Beloved Mother and Father,

You may want an explanation for the photograph circulating in various publications in which I can be seen in the same room as various Persons of Importance. I wrote you a letter in which I discussed it, but it was a truly awful letter not written in my right mind, so I had to rip it up and bury it in the middle of the forest.
If you read my letters in chronological order, you can see what led up to that photograph or set of photographs. I happened to stumble into a place where Important People were, and although I have met most of them them before, I am really not very close to them. I tried to operate their knowing-how-to-dance machine, but it was not working properly for me. I am seen wearing ragged clothes because I have yet to find a job and there is little to work with but scraps of the dress I left home in and rags from the rubbish bins. I do my best, I really do, although you may not believe me. My entire social life is a work in progress.
I returned from fetching a raccoon skin (explained in previous letters) to Miss Dreamscape's tavern where I'm allowed to stay, all with barely enough time to make it to a bi-weekly party. Mama Miss Dreamscape herself was not there. She is a soldier who protects the European government, so she has reason to be away at times. But very few people were present for Miss Blackheart's music tonight at all. I sent myself to bed when it seemed like an appropriate time. I feel very alone and miss you so much it hurts. I can see now why a stuffed raccoon was recommended. It's probably a good thing not to see too much of people outside the family because, by definition, they can never tolerate me as well as you do. All the same, I feel unhappy to be more alone than before. May Heaven help me with my "feelings", and may I find out how to get back to Massachusetts before all three of us die of a broken heart.

Love eternal and unrelenting,
Your Shaqad