Send My Dieing Love To Polly

Send my dieing love to Polly. This was the final chapter in the story of a broken heart.

One day while I was scouring the banks of Bear Creek for cans, gold, or food, maybe all three, one never knows, I came across a sad sight. Far down the creek, well into the great waste lands I found a body. He was a young man of good looks, and by his clothes he must have been quite the dandy. He lay under a weeping willow gazing over the creek towards a large beautiful house with Greek columns and ivy covered walls. Across the young mans chest lay a gold bound diary, through which the young man had impaled a silver dagger, directly into his heart. On seeing this sad sight I temporarily forgot my hunger, and upon carefully removing the knife, I sat down beside the corpse to read.

My Diary: By Fopworth Spiffypants.

May 10: To day was a most warm and wonderful one, keen to go for a stroll I soon forgot myself, and found that I had wandered farther than ever before. Stopping for a spot of shade neath a lovely willow, I beheld a most interesting house. Built in the stile of the old Greeks, this was most odd for a small town. Just as I turned to leave, I spotted her.
Like an angel she was, sitting in a soft chair and gazing at me with eyes that flashed of silver and steel. I could not breathe, stunned I could not find the strength to look away, and alas I fell into a swoon. When I awoke the darkness hid her from my sight. Though I waited far into the night, never again did she reappear.

May 11: Today I returned to the house, and there she sat looking ever more lovely. Standing on tiptoe I called to her and waved a greeting with my neckerchief. The distances must have been too great though for if she heard me she showed no sign. I continued trying to catch her eye for the rest of the afternoon. At one point I attempted to climb the willow for a better look, but only managed to fall, rend my waistcoat, and scrape off the tip of my nose. When I regained my senses after this nasty spill she once again had vanished due to the cursed darkness.

May 12: This will be the day, I’m sure of it. I simply must let this darling creacher know how I feel about her. Arriving at the now familiar willow, I soon spotted her sitting upon her velvet chair staring as always across the creek at me as though deep in contemplation. I needed to get closer, so I set off down the bank in her direction. Brambles are indeed a bother! No sooner had I started than I found my self in a merry mess. Thorns tore at my knickers and my flesh until defeated I was forced to give it up for the day. As an added insult, a vole rose up from the ground, and bit off the little toe on my left foot.

May 13: An unlucky day indeed. While puffing on my pipe neath the shade of the willow, and gazing longingly at the girl across the creek. I nodded off and set fire to myself. The day was not a total loss however, for the fire also consumed all the brambles which had so vexed me on the last visit.

May 14: I was so sure this would be the day. Arriving at the willow tree, I set off with all speed down the now clear bank. My Angel was sitting as always high up on the garden terrace across the creek. I stopped briefly during my descent and noted with satisfaction that the vole which had so wronged me on our previous meeting had burned horribly in yesterday’s fire. From on high beneath the spread of the majestic willow the small creek seemed clear and inviting, but alas when viewed up close I found it to be a stinking morass. Mud and water weeds soon sucked my britches off, and as I sought to retrieve them, a troublesome turtle nipped off my right index finger. I managed to crush the vile beast with a rock, but the blood only attracted more of these awful things and I lost a thumb as well in my hasty retreat.

May 15: Hacking about with my dagger, I finally crossed the wretched brook. I quickly scaled the garden wall and came face to face with my love. Oh such beauty, like white doves on a gilded roof. My love, I have come through the valley of death for you I cried, and through myself prone at her feet. If she heard me though she gave no sign. Desperately I kissed her feet and stroked her hand. But through it all she sat still and cold as death, never shifting her gaze from the far horizon. In desperation I rose up and shook her violently. Her only response was to slowly topple sideways and crash to the ground. I was on her in an instant, kissing her pale cold lips and stroking her marble colored hair. I wanted her, but not like this, never like this!!! Grief stricken I returned home.

May 16: From the shade of my willow I can see that my love has not moved from the ground. Though I have sat here for hours now, she dose not move. My mind is telling me what my heart can not bear to hear, I have killed her. So surprised was she to see me vault over her garden wall, bloody knife clenched in teeth, creek mud slopping from dirty brow, that she simply died of fright. Rooted to the velvet pedestal where she had sat all these long days.

May 17: Final entry. With out my love I can not go on. All is misery and death. I killed her, God be merciful. In the shade of the willow where I first saw her I shall through my self upon my own dagger, farewell.

Once I finished reading I carefully set down the diary and turned to look across the creek. To my great surprise I saw the girl, still lying on the ground where she had fallen when this poor love struck dandy had shaken her. She was indeed beautiful!! However there was something funny about her. Rummaging through my things I pulled out an old pair of binoculars and had me a closer look see. After a minuet I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face. The grin turned to laughter and soon I was howling. Long minuets later my laughter subsided and I turned once more to look at the unfortunate man lying dead behind me. So blinded by love was he, that by the time he finally overcame all hardships to reach the butiful girl he saw sitting in the garden, his mind refused to see what she really was. Poor poor basterd. He named her Polly, cute name……..

Can you my faithful readers figure out what poor Fopworth Spiffypants could not? Leave me a Coment, and find out if you can.