Butch sits in his comfortable-fitting Adidas tracksuit training pants and an armless Metallica “Ride the Lightning” t-shirt. He is writing vigorously on a lined piece of paper, a serious, almost regretful look on his face.
Dear Vanessa,
Where do I start? This past year is a period of time in which I’d rather forget and I know the things I’ve done and the people I’ve hurt will never be forgotten. I know you and a whole lot of other people feel that my actions are reprehensible unforgiveable and you’d be far-pushed to find someone who would disagree with your sentiments.
Don’t worry, I’m not going to go on like a stuck-record and claim it was all for the greater good, that my actions were somehow noble because of the true nature of my reasoning behind them and I know you think that there is a line that man should not cross. Maybe you’re right; maybe you’re wrong, I really don’t know the difference anymore. But all I can ask, if you had the chance to save the one person I your life you’ve always cared about no matter what, to save them, what would you do? I was a desperate man staring into an unimaginable void and I took the road less travelled and I just hope that one day you can find it in your heart to at least look past what I did it to you…
Butch stops writing for a moment, leaning his weight on his arm, his chin and jaw cupped in the palm of his hand as he stares absentmindedly at the ceiling, tapping the pencil in his other hand against his bottom lip. A moment later, he recommences writing.
That day…it was another I’d rather forget, Vanessa. It was blind, unadulterated rage. The things you said, the facts you pointed out, all their own distinct version of the truth but not the real one. When I heard you saying those unthinkable words that most other weeks you would probably use to describe someone like Senester but hearing my name at the forefront…I…I just couldn’t handle it and I snapped. I don’t know what else I can say or do to make things right. I have no disillusions of things going back to normal; I’m no longer the squeaky clean figure that everyone the world over looks up to and strives to be like and I won’t pretend my next road is going to be an easy one to traverse. All I can do is do what’s right for the people that I care for and get my career back on track. Listen to me rambling like you need to know all this…I’ve wasted a good ten minutes of your time forcing to read this nonsense and my pathetic excuses for turning into a monster when all I want to say is…I’m sorry.
I’m sorry, Vanessa.
Yours sincerely
Butch Alexander Parker
Butch puts the pencil down and proceeds to fold the letter neatly in half and then half again before sliding it carefully into a prepaid envelope with the address of Hans von Richtoven’s Empire State Building Apartment emblazoned across the front. He pushes himself back from the desk, picking up the envelope and he is about to leave when the sound of his cell phone ringing catches his attention. Pulling out of his back pocket and answers it.
(Butch): Yeah?
Judging by Butch’s reaction to the caller’s voice, he is in two minds about hanging up or hearing them out.
(Butch): To what do I owe the pleasure of this phone call? …… And you think I’m just going to drop everything and- ……..you expect me to believe that? ……..what makes you think I’m interested in something like that? …….Look, I’m a little busy right now, I’ll think about it and I’ll let you know, bye.
Butch aggressively ends the call on his cell and puts it back in his pocket, a contemplative expression crossing his face. He stands idle for a moment, replaying the conversation he just had in his head before snapping back to reality, noticing the letter to Vanessa in his hand.
(Butch): Priorities, Butch, priorities.
Butch then exits the study, and manoeuvres his way out of the beautiful home belonging to his now fiancé, before walking out into the cool lunchtime air and he climbs into his metallic Porsche 911 Turbo, tossing the envelope onto the passenger seat as he heads for the Post Office, the scene fading to black.
Message Thread
« Back to index