Canada Day
My Dearest and Most Beloved Mother and Father,
I've got paper to write on! Isn't that wonderful? I shall tell you how I got it further on!
First of all, I must sincerely apologize for running off the way I did. Please know that it was never, ever, ever, ever, ever my intention to abandon you. I only meant to go out for a brief stroll--first before the flat exploded to take my mind off of our tiny quarrel, and then afterward to take a rest from all the strangers asking me what business I had sitting on my own doorstep for three days. (With my luck, you both returned home shortly after I left.) Anyhow, you know how I am in cities. I got myself terribly lost terribly fast. Thereafter, all my efforts to find either you or the neighborhood were in vain. I do miss you almost more than I can bear. But please don't fret, because one way or another, I will come home! I know how much you love me, and I'll not leave you to pine for me in torment.
(Please know that in spite of my behavior, I really do love you back, both of you.
Now, you are probably wondering about my whereabouts. I'm actually wondering that myself. My best guess is currently "Winterfell, Canada" because I saw a sign that said "Winterfell" and met some people celebrating Canada Day. (It was they who gave me the paper!) There are a few things about this place that might make it a bit more easily identifiable to those more educated than myself. I arrived here via water, and this whole side of town seems to be a harbor. There also appears to be a waterfall not too far away, but I haven't gotten a close look at it. For another thing, the sun has neither risen nor set since I arrived here a few hours ago. That seems a bit peculiar to me, as I'm almost sure sunrises and sunsets don't usually last that long. The sun is rising or setting over the water, so I guess the harbor is either due east or due west, if that helps at all. Another thing of note is that this part of town appears to be absolutely infested with furry little elephants the size of mice. I didn't realize that baby elephants were that tiny--and where are the adults? Are they indigenous to this area, or are they some silly little runaway science project that will be cleaned up by the end of the week?
I do hope you can find me or vice versa! It isn't fitting for someone as young and flighty as myself to be wandering alone. I can't believe I've survived this long, in fact. The calendars in the place I got the paper from say that Canada day is July first. It was the end of March when the flat was razed, wasn't it?
Anyhow, on to the subject of the origins of this paper! I had been walking up and down the quiet streets of this Winterfell place when I smelt the vapors of fresh gingerbread. I went close to the building for observation, as I'd been living on lemon drops and weeds for the past few months and had recently run out of lemon drops. The building was a tavern, and it had some cookies on the counter for guests to take freely. But there were people about, and you know how I feel about people, so I attempted to wait inside for them to go. But instead of them going, I was invited inside by the next patron to arrive. You shall never guess who that was! Do you remember the name "Baron Wulfenbach" from the newspapers? I don't remember whether he was the President of Europe or the President of the Sparkpeople, but either way, it was him! Of course I had to go inside after that.
Inside, there were several people reciting poetry. I didn't have any poetry to recite (which is just as well because in their culture, you show appreciation for a performance by throwing things), which I think disappointed them, but I did get to learn a little bit more about the rabbit hole I've fallen down. They confirmed that I'm in the Steamlands. Most of the stories the neighbors told us were about the Steamlands, weren't they? I did make a mistake and start prattling about the stories a bit. Now a group of adults, some of them clearly very important, including the President of Europe, has been made keenly aware of my stupidity. I know this is quite regrettable, and I've cut off some once-in-a-lifetime marriage opportunities by crushing any illusions about myself that these noble households might have developed. But on the bright side, there are plenty more people who haven't heard me prattle yet! Queen Victoria hasn't, and neither has President Harrison. In fact, I bet there are many well-to-do families in America, Europe, the Steamlands, and beyond who have yet to develop an appropriately negative opinion of me! Please don't be mad. I'm very sorry, though. Really, I am. I'm going to go find a corner to stand in right now and think about what I've done, alright?
I'm back from standing in the corner now. Continuing with the subject at hand, I received three books to throw at people reciting poems. A lady by the name of Lowey--who may or may not have been the Vice President of Europe--handed me a copy of Coffeehouse Reading, and Mr. Baron himself gave me two textbooks! I shall have to have a look at them later. Unfortunately, I never did get the hang of throwing books correctly, further adding to the level of incompetence those present observed. But the non-textbook had some blank pages in the back, and that is where I got this paper! (In case you were wondering, I also got some gingerbread. It tastes much better than flowers.)
Shortly after my prattling, someone told me something useful: The Steamlands really are "wild" as the stories say. I don't know in what ways that is, and I don't know if every story is correct, but that's good to know. They also said that there are colorful beings about. I hope they don't mean the evil aliens from the story of Princess Canolli, which forced her to build a music box and trapped her inside. That is one story I would not like to see brought to life. I would hate to spend my life in a music box even if I knew how to dance correctly. Another thing they said was that the mice around here carry defensive weapons, and the cats respect them. I really do feel as though I've stepped into a dream! I wonder if I shall meet any of these mice.
At the end of the evening, Mr. Baron set off some beautiful fireworks. I almost cried because they made me miss home so much, but I don't think I showed any signs of it. See, Mother, there's hope for me yet!
They told me I could come back next week, though I don't know if I can find poetry for them--or if I can find the building, for that matter, since this isn't exactly the Dunwich swamps and I'm highly likely to get lost among all the boxy buildings before too long. But if I don't get lost again, and if I'm not on my way back to Boston, I'll probably try to get back to that place and have more gingerbread.
You know, the people were all very nice even when I didn't deserve it. Mr. Baron himself is the anthropomorphization of dignity, and I'm sure you would get something out of meeting him, Father, especially if you'd like to rule something in the future. I hope that if I happen to be around these folks more, I pick up something of their manner myself!
I still hope to see you very, very soon! At the very least, I hope that I will figure out where to send this letter and others now that we no longer have a flat!
Love always and forever,
Your Shaqad
I've got paper to write on! Isn't that wonderful? I shall tell you how I got it further on!
First of all, I must sincerely apologize for running off the way I did. Please know that it was never, ever, ever, ever, ever my intention to abandon you. I only meant to go out for a brief stroll--first before the flat exploded to take my mind off of our tiny quarrel, and then afterward to take a rest from all the strangers asking me what business I had sitting on my own doorstep for three days.
(Please know that in spite of my behavior, I really do love you back, both of you.
Now, you are probably wondering about my whereabouts. I'm actually wondering that myself. My best guess is currently "Winterfell, Canada" because I saw a sign that said "Winterfell" and met some people celebrating Canada Day. (It was they who gave me the paper!) There are a few things about this place that might make it a bit more easily identifiable to those more educated than myself. I arrived here via water, and this whole side of town seems to be a harbor. There also appears to be a waterfall not too far away, but I haven't gotten a close look at it. For another thing, the sun has neither risen nor set since I arrived here a few hours ago. That seems a bit peculiar to me, as I'm almost sure sunrises and sunsets don't usually last that long. The sun is rising or setting over the water, so I guess the harbor is either due east or due west, if that helps at all. Another thing of note is that this part of town appears to be absolutely infested with furry little elephants the size of mice.
I do hope you can find me or vice versa! It isn't fitting for someone as young and flighty as myself to be wandering alone. I can't believe I've survived this long, in fact. The calendars in the place I got the paper from say that Canada day is July first. It was the end of March when the flat was razed, wasn't it?
Anyhow, on to the subject of the origins of this paper! I had been walking up and down the quiet streets of this Winterfell place when I smelt the vapors of fresh gingerbread. I went close to the building for observation, as I'd been living on lemon drops and weeds for the past few months and had recently run out of lemon drops. The building was a tavern, and it had some cookies on the counter for guests to take freely. But there were people about, and you know how I feel about people, so I attempted to wait inside for them to go. But instead of them going, I was invited inside by the next patron to arrive. You shall never guess who that was! Do you remember the name "Baron Wulfenbach" from the newspapers? I don't remember whether he was the President of Europe or the President of the Sparkpeople, but either way, it was him!
Inside, there were several people reciting poetry. I didn't have any poetry to recite (which is just as well because in their culture, you show appreciation for a performance by throwing things), which I think disappointed them, but I did get to learn a little bit more about the rabbit hole I've fallen down. They confirmed that I'm in the Steamlands. Most of the stories the neighbors told us were about the Steamlands, weren't they? I did make a mistake and start prattling about the stories a bit. Now a group of adults, some of them clearly very important, including the President of Europe, has been made keenly aware of my stupidity. I know this is quite regrettable, and I've cut off some once-in-a-lifetime marriage opportunities by crushing any illusions about myself that these noble households might have developed. But on the bright side, there are plenty more people who haven't heard me prattle yet! Queen Victoria hasn't, and neither has President Harrison. In fact, I bet there are many well-to-do families in America, Europe, the Steamlands, and beyond who have yet to develop an appropriately negative opinion of me! Please don't be mad. I'm very sorry, though. Really, I am. I'm going to go find a corner to stand in right now and think about what I've done, alright?
I'm back from standing in the corner now. Continuing with the subject at hand, I received three books to throw at people reciting poems. A lady by the name of Lowey--who may or may not have been the Vice President of Europe--handed me a copy of Coffeehouse Reading, and Mr. Baron himself gave me two textbooks! I shall have to have a look at them later. Unfortunately, I never did get the hang of throwing books correctly, further adding to the level of incompetence those present observed. But the non-textbook had some blank pages in the back, and that is where I got this paper! (In case you were wondering, I also got some gingerbread. It tastes much better than flowers.)
Shortly after my prattling, someone told me something useful: The Steamlands really are "wild" as the stories say. I don't know in what ways that is, and I don't know if every story is correct, but that's good to know. They also said that there are colorful beings about. I hope they don't mean the evil aliens from the story of Princess Canolli, which forced her to build a music box and trapped her inside. That is one story I would not like to see brought to life. I would hate to spend my life in a music box even if I knew how to dance correctly. Another thing they said was that the mice around here carry defensive weapons, and the cats respect them. I really do feel as though I've stepped into a dream! I wonder if I shall meet any of these mice.
At the end of the evening, Mr. Baron set off some beautiful fireworks. I almost cried because they made me miss home so much, but I don't think I showed any signs of it. See, Mother, there's hope for me yet!
They told me I could come back next week, though I don't know if I can find poetry for them--or if I can find the building, for that matter, since this isn't exactly the Dunwich swamps and I'm highly likely to get lost among all the boxy buildings before too long. But if I don't get lost again, and if I'm not on my way back to Boston, I'll probably try to get back to that place and have more gingerbread.
You know, the people were all very nice even when I didn't deserve it. Mr. Baron himself is the anthropomorphization of dignity, and I'm sure you would get something out of meeting him, Father, especially if you'd like to rule something in the future. I hope that if I happen to be around these folks more, I pick up something of their manner myself!
I still hope to see you very, very soon! At the very least, I hope that I will figure out where to send this letter and others now that we no longer have a flat!
Love always and forever,
Your Shaqad
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