The Last Tale

"All right, my friend. Let me tell you my last tale. In the world so immense and full of wonders as God created it, there was one tiny world located in one of the smallest corners of our planet. It lay just near the sea, but its inhabitants hardly ever approached the blue waters for they all were very busy human creatures. They loved to tell themselves they had some very important business to do making the planet a better place.

In this world there was one little man who was blessed with a lot of bright power. It was so strong and glowing that everyone saw him as a special man.

Just like all the blessed he had a lot of things on his mind. He could do something great. But he never did, as the people around wanted to capture him in their little cage forever. They told him how bright his glow was, but took care no one outside their little world would see it. And so the man stayed with them for very long years. As they went by his power got weaker since he applied it very little. His face got dull. He cast his eyes down.

He turned into a sad man who treated people who loved him very cruelly. They were trying to tell him how much they cared for him, but all he saw was his grey world full of jealous people. And so he never tried to run.

The man saw he was doing something wrong. But instead of repenting he made amends by killing himself with self-hatred. While the world outside wanted to have him at last.

I don't know if he ever got out. I prayed he would. So if you see him, don't hurt him. And maybe one day he will break free."

I opened her notebook and smiled. It was there. Her new story was written and it was written for me! No one else will ever see how talented she is. I am the only one to have witnessed her gift and God knows I'll take care to keep things this way. I don't want her to leave. Don't want her to be discovered by someone else. They won't value her anyway.

It was her private diary open for me and hidden from anybody else on the Internet except maybe social media moderators. There were simple notes about her life such as people she met, kids she tutored, books she read, family clashes, childhood flashbacks... and love letters. The letters she wrote to me. When I open the very first one I still feel the same: some kind of adrenalin rush and excitement. A sincere letter that only girls under 20 can write to their enigmatic male college professors. You can't teach it. But it's lost as they get older and decide to look back at the story as a childish mistake.

Still, this case seemed different. Almost every letter read that she fully acknowledged it was a wrong thing to do. That she realized it was going nowhere and her "stupid scribbles" were far from worthy. And yet, she couldn't help it. She was like a junkie whose drug was a line dropped for me. For me alone. I was addicted to her writing as well and it was certain that none of us was willing to change anything. I read about her life and pictured it vividly. It was a take on all the things around given by someone alive. Someone who could still feel.

I looked around. I was sitting in the university auditorium full of students busy completing their assignments. A classroom full of pretty young girls. Hardly could they imagine me secretly relistening to a student's voice recordings made for the interpreting class. Her voice was soft and mesmerizing.

Our life was good. We lived in a small town. What's good about a small town, you ask? You have only a couple of reasonable job opportunities with an English degree. You can go to teach at school. Or accept a teaching position at our local university. I looked briefly at a line of abandoned dormitories seen from the shabby window. The authorities try to prove everyone the buildings are being reconstructed. As for me, I don't remember the last time I saw a living soul there. What a farce.

Though, maybe they are right. What's the use building anything for people whose education is totally irrelevant. Their diplomas won't be even submitted anywhere outside the town. A perfect policy to keep birds in the nest.

She thinks she can escape it. I thought so too. I was just like her in the past. Maybe that's why she keeps me so hooked. If I closed my eyes right now, I would see a curly hipster boy wearing a handmade multicolor sweater instead of these tweed blazer.

"Can I ask you a question, sir?" A shy girl comes up to hand in her assignment.

"Sure, dear miss." I smile at her. The girl seems a bit dazzled and runs out from the classroom. A couple of seconds go by before an assistant comes in.

"The new studentbooks arrived, sir. The dean asks everyone to come and check them."

"Everyone" means the teaching staff. I stand up and move forward quite reluctantly behind the assistant who doesn't feel like shutting up.

"Do you know about the author of the new book? Oh, you would never guess! This is our Maria! I remember when she was twenty. Such a sweet pie! Everyone would call her really promising indeed. Now she is 41, someone said she has 2 adopted kids. And here she is, sending us her studentbooks for free! Our students will be so much thrilled to see some fresh materials!"

I nod silently. A sweet promising girl. So true.

I get the books. Come back to the computer. Give a long look to the last letter dated June 10, 2020. Stand up and roll the calendar page.

June 10, 2039.

You'll come to me. I'm always here.