Letter 2 "The town's Mutt and the old actor" The play.

 Sometimes I am so mesmerized by the fantasies I created in my mind that I in fact forget, they are just a fragment of delusions I feed myself like daily bread. I write to you so desperately, like a mutt that feeds on whatever garbage that is thrown to it. 

I feel disappointed, disgusted even. Not only that, but I look like a deprived actor, pleading the audience to spear a round of applause, to make me feel like, I am doing something right. Something desired. I am driven into an emotional poverty that left sucked the last drop of life out of my hallow vessel. I get nervous, I beg for attention, an attention that is as shallow as a cup of water. Yet this cup, was enough to suffocate me with embarrassment, regret. I speak, I roar, I scream for attention and soon drive away the only ones who were brave enough to listen, to pay attention, to make me feel like somebody.  I learned to devour, to exploit the opportunity to be heard, for my audience is mere, it is my only way to make the most of it. There goes another new year resolution, "This year I'll be more than a pleaser, this year I'll finally learn how to not make a fool of myself" When I know deep down, I'll just repeat the horrendous play over and over again, in an old, scarred theatre that people avoid entering. 

...

The town's Mutt is in desperate hunger, nothing can satisfy her desire for a grand feast someone kind enough to prepare for her. But she is, in fact, a mutt. No one would care deeply for a mutt now, would they? The town's Mutt stretches her lazy, sickly body as she walks into town like any other day to cadger her daily nibbles of everything and nothing. She looks at the town's Men, posing her terrible state by showing the men her bony ribs, "Look! Look at me! Look at the grotesque form I suffer from!" her eyes whispered loudly. The town's Men, motivated by pity, threw her biscuits, small portions of left over bread, even a nickel drops as the gentlemen reaches for the alms in their deep pockets. The town's Mutt barks in gratitude, wagging her tail, licking the kind Men's shoes, only to be met with a look of distaste. "Ah, forgive me. I tend to forget that I am just a mere mutt." Now with her belly full, she ambled the back into her dark valley. 

...

The old actor surrounds himself with tableaux, of seas, of castles, of eerie hills with beast full of malice. He stands, facing all these memories, he has been there, all of them. An old man marked by history and experience. His vividly recalls every single play, for he is the actor, an actor must know his scripts. A hero, a passenger, a lying scoundrel. He has been All. But yet, he is not famous among the town's Men nor women. He exhales, wiping his face with exhaustion. "It is time, to impress the People." he thought to himself. Stepping onto the stage he is met with not one, not twice, but a none existent number of round of applause. He strikes a pose as he repeated the script, the same own script that burned into his thick skull. A play that he had repeated in his old withered theatre he built piece by piece long ago. After whom knows how long, the old actor bowed as naturally as he does.

...

From now on, people might be wondering nothing more could happen in this miserable, boring town full of pity and frivolousness. But they must have never grown, lived and died before if they even dare to grace this such thought. In this universe, fate is such an "amusing" thing, even a mother could cry for her child that she herself decided to kill, allowing it to be thrown like debris in a bag. "It is only natural, it is Debris, no?", for it was too luxurious, too undesirable for her.  Only to find how she bear another fruit in her belly that she deeply loves. This one is worth the care, the time. Those who say that life is logical are just blasphemous sinners disguised as pastors. Because in this sick of a play nothing is logical, nothing is normal, everything is twisted, nothing is right, if someone says otherwise are wrong, sick, mad hatters even! 

...

"Such an alluring scent" the Mutt hummed to herself, her belly once again rumbling like a collapsing cave, her jaws aching to sink into something tender, succulent. Her eternal hunger is something that is hard to cease. She perks up her worn out ears as she listened... a distorted melody calls her, a symphony of pure thrill and survival... it calls her. Her sick body was betrayed by the scent and the sound, she stands, she moves her stick like legs, and she follows, like she always does. The Mutt moved swiftly through the valleys, as natural as breathing. Trotting pass piles of old waste wood, unwanted cardboard, empty beer bottles... she is used to it, she is used to this vermin of a land. She heard cries, "Ah…not another one, please Lord, not another one." Her thoughts soon flooded by misery and despair. The Mutt gently touched the small bag of flesh with her aged snout."Oh, please don't cry, child... don't shed precious tears. I understand your pain. I too, am unwanted." As motherly as she is, she cannot guide the poor soul back to their mother. "Child, I cannot be your mother, as much as I want to be. I'm sorry, forgive me, I'm sorry my child as much as I want to, I simply can't. I am not fit, and I'll fail you."  She walked pass with a heavy her pounding in her rib cages. It yearns, it yearns to give love and become the mother she was supposed to be by nature, a good, selfless mother. Continuing her track, following the alluring smell of fresh meat, a scent so magnificent that it made the mutt temporarily forget the rotting bags that were scattered in the valleys. 

...

A loud crash caught the attention of the old actor, he shifted his gaze to the sound, startled by the sudden interruption of peace. There, a mutt stand in a corner besides a pile of mess that it created. The actor sighed with disappointment, "ah... just another fellow, similar to myself. Starved." he thought, looking at the filthy dog then back to his plate, one that is blessed by the bondage of the soil and life. The old actor sliced the steak in his plate and tossed the mutt a small portion. The Mutt, full of hunger, devoured the tender meat in a matter of seconds. She sat beside the old actor and licked his oiled hand that he used to provide her a temporary stop to her starvation. Her, full of gratitude, cleaned the fine oil off his hand. And to her surprise, the Mutt was met with a warm smile. Her, perplexed by this reaction, ran away. Baffled, frightened even by this new experience. It is only reasonable to be scared when making contact with something so new, no? 

...

Confused as she is, the Mutt hastened through the dark maze of her town, looking for remedies, for answers that could be explained word by word, syllable by syllable. The Mutt crossed bridges, busy roads that were infested by cars and people too important to notice and acknowledge the mutt's confusion, too prestigious to calm the startled, pounding heart of the mutt. The Mutt seeks answers, she looked through rubbish, dumpsters, windows, poster that faded as the time stretched its unbreakable fabric. But, nothing. Nothing sorted the tangled wires of her brain. Until she stumbled upon a small abandoned house. She traced her snout on the wooden floor, taking in the scent of inactivity. A creak caught her attention, an old painting's string was about to pop... and soon a loud crash made her scurry her sickly body under a table... The mutt fixated her eyes on the fallen painting. A small girl holding her dog closely with her stubby fingers, the dog looked at the child with...love. And she looked at it with a smile beaming on her face. A smile of adoration. This old painting send a shiver down her frail spine, it was like an electric shock, but it wasn't painful. It made her bones tremble, a pleasurable sensation. That is when the mutt understood, perhaps, perhaps this is the final blown to be released from the claws of her perpetual cravings. "A smile, a smile is all it takes. And He gave me a smile... He gave me a smile!" The old Mutt beamed in delight as she howled, enjoying the fact that she have found the answer she not long ago sought.

...

"It is time, to impress the People." The poor old actor once thought to himself, his sanity slowly drifting as he once again stepped onto the familiar stage he himself built with his last nickels, a stage that left him in poverty. Another play, another start. He is not who he is any more, He strikes a pose as he repeated the script, the same own script that burned into his thick skull. The old actor followed the steps, dancing and singing as if his life depended on it. It was all he knew, he is an old actor after all. As he bowed his heavy head, he was met with a delighted applause. The mutt that he had fed the other day came back into the theatre, wagging its tail as it barked with delight at the sight of the Old Actor. He walked off the stage and crouched down, extending is arms to the canine, waiting for it to jump into its arms.

...

The Mutt looked at the Old Actor with a sudden burst of love, she trotted to him, burying the small of her skull in his shoulder. For once in her life, she is finally loved. Her eternal hunger would end. The Mutt savoured her temporary stay in the Old Actor's arms, his musky scent that is no different from any other men's, his dull fingers that curled against her prickly unkept fur. Her Old Actor was no different from a miserable man, but He is Hers, and she is His. The Mutt nuzzled her ear onto her Old Actor's chest, the sound of his heart is so alive, so energetic. Her Old Actor tightened his grip on her fur, strands and strands of grey locks being pulled out of her filthy skin.

...

The old actor bit into the mutt's fur, burying his rotten teeth into the flesh of the dog, it didn't cry, it didn't scream. His hunger is inevitable, he is a poor man after all. He needs to survive. The pungent smell of metal filled the theatre, little droplets of blood tainted the old wooden floors. He is a man, it is only natural for him to be hungry for more after he had his first sip of attention. It is only natural for him to destroy something so precious, you must excuse him for driving away and devouring those who provide him comfort, excuse his brutal mannerism of constant chatter and complains of his ever so agonizing life, for you are the one who gave him the taste of being heard, of being seen, of being finally, somebody. 

...

The Mutt was left with nothing but her bones, yet the theatre's walls called her selfish to keep her bones when she gave up her flesh. How natural of the an egoist world, no? But it doesn't matter now. It never mattered in the beginning. She was one of a billion of mutts in this vast land being devoured by another one of a billion old actors. But at least, it was her Old Actor that devoured her flesh. The Old Actor is Her's, and she is His.