Wednesday, 3 April 2013

Secret Service: EPISODE 105

10 Forsythia Grove
Outer Hamlet
My Dear Ralph
I have been sitting here for quite some while.  I think I may have been trying to concentrate the forces required to write this final epistle.  Comedy is, after all, a well-known antidote to what is, often, the deadly arena of life.  I am not going to go into detail here - as I have, indeed, barely mentioned my long career in the Service - but I seem to have spent most of last year with my foot on the neck of evil.  And now, I may, I think, finally have broken the neck of it.  This saddens me dear, for one does not ever wish to set out upon the path of Nemesis.  I used to think, like Christ perhaps, that one should 'turn the other cheek' and react compassionately to manifestations of darkness.  But, if there is one thing I have learned over the decades, it is that evil does not respond well to any demonstrations of goodness, kindness and love.  Evil is playing by different rules and can, I believe, only be stopped by some expression of force.  So, I have gone (reluctantly) beyond my own self and opposed the dark force, driven it before me, and struck possibly a mortal blow.  I cry dear, for the loss of a goodness that never was.  I place my full stops.  I place them carefully.  I am elliptical, doubtless, but aren't we all occupying hidden worlds?  Aren't we all swept by currents whose meaning we can barely comprehend?  Only follow the light pet is all that I can say.  Follow it as best you can.
Meanwhile, this year - last year - I have made some friends of decent character.  Dear Guthrie attended yesterday and we engaged in a peregrination round the local countryside and munched on pie in a fine eatery.  In a day or so, I will be meeting up with the equally decent Entwhistle for a tour of 'winter' city gardens.  And then there is Tom, who is a water sports enthusiast from Bright Litton.  Life force perhaps, or intellect.
I lay my sword to earth.  And the hilt, I see it quiver.
Aunt Agatha

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