From: "Howard Meyer" To: Date: Fri, 29 Jan 1999 19:53:11 -0500 Subject: JQ: Fic: Dear Rage Message-ID: <017601be4bea$eb844fe0$d54caccf@meyer-home> Sender: owner-jq@edc.ml.org Return-path: Reply-To: jq@edc.ml.org Received: from mx1.boston.juno.com (mx1.boston.juno.com [207.205.100.50]) by x2.boston.juno.com (8.8.6.Beta0/8.8.6.Beta0/2.0.kim) with ESMTP id UAAAA25025 for ; Fri, 29 Jan 1999 20:02:59 -0500 (EST) Received: from edc.ml.org (a001-1.klippan.se [194.236.65.169]) by mx1.boston.juno.com (8.8.6.Beta0/8.8.6.Beta0/2.0.kim) with SMTP id UAAAA00404; Fri, 29 Jan 1999 20:02:48 -0500 (EST) Received: by edc.ml.org (1.37.109.4/16.2) id AA25000; Sat, 30 Jan 99 02:01:21 +0100 Received: from smtp1.erols.com by edc.ml.org with SMTP (1.37.109.4/16.2) id AA24992; Sat, 30 Jan 99 01:59:29 +0100 Received: from meyer-home (207-172-76-213.s213.tnt4.man.erols.com [207.172.76.213]) by smtp1.erols.com (8.8.8/8.8.5) with SMTP id TAA12309 for ; Fri, 29 Jan 1999 19:53:13 -0500 (EST) X-Status: Read X-Mailer: Microsoft Outlook Express 4.72.3110.5 X-Juno-Att: 1 MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: multipart/alternative; boundary="----=_NextPart_000_0171_01BE4BC1.00213460" This message is in MIME format. Since your mail reader does not understand this format, some or all of this message may not be legible. ------=_NextPart_000_0171_01BE4BC1.00213460 Content-Type: text/plain Content-Transfer-Encoding: quoted-printable Yep, another one from me. You may want to delete it before you fall into = the clutches of another horrid fic by me...this one really is horrid, I = don't even know why I posted it. So, enjoy *grimace* if that's = possible...-Celestia Dear Rage A lone figure peered out of the filthy windowpanes into the dark night, = staring up at the full moon above. Everything around was silent, except = for the occasional footsteps that sounded in the hallways outside of the = room. The figure shifted slightly in the red swivel chair as to not = wrinkle his long, black cape. He looked outside dreamily, his eyes = glazing over as his mind drifted off to other things, of happier times. = The sound of loud foot falls on the linoleum outside of the dingy little = office brought Rage back to reality with a jolt, and his hand = automatically tightened around his most precious possession: The Book of = Rage. A small man in a simple-looking brown cloak like a monk's entered = the room timidly. "Honored Rage, here are the papers you asked for. = Everything you have told us to prepare is almost ready." Rage allowed = his eyes to flick casually over the timid man before him, whose knees = were visibly shaking. He recognized the man as Brother Ivan, a = middle-aged newcomer to the cult who had come seeking revenge for the = death of his mother. Rage remembered him well, as he did all of the = members of his "flock." Very slowly and gently, Brother Ivan lowered a = manila folder on to the top of Rage's desk, then scurried back from it = as if it might bite. Rage finally spoke. "Go. Prepare for all," he = instructed in a low, soft voice. The man nodded and nearly bolted out of = the room. Rage held back his urge to sigh, and reluctantly picked up the = folder in front of him and read the first paper enclosed. He skimmed = over the first formalities until he came to the body of the letter. He = put on his glasses and began to read: I am a female in my twenties. I still live at home with my surviving = parent, whom I don't even know the first name of. As you can guess, this = causes quite a problem when I am signing up for my classes in karate and = gun use training. I also have a twin sister who always manages to mess = things up when my family tries to take over the world. I am very worried = about myself, because sometimes I want to kill her when I am supposed to = be killing an annoying 14 year old boy with unnatural looking blond = hair. What do you think I should do?=20 Desperate Descendant of the Mongols Rage thought a moment, then licked his lips and began to type on the = rickety typewriter in front of him. He heard a whimper as he started, = which he quickly disregarded. Annoying woman, he thought.=20 Dear Desperate Descendant of the Mongols, Flee from your family of evil and hatred. Run away from both of the evil = ones of your family, and come to your real family, the family that will = help you wreak punishment on the evil ones! 'Another problem solved, another possible convert, Rage thought = satisfactorily. He pulled out a second sheet of paper, and read: I am still in my teens, and I am totally in love. I can't help my = feelings anymore. Every time I see him, I feel like my heart will burst. = He's so wonderful, and he has saved my life so many times, and is also = my best friend in the world. His mother approves of me as his friend, so = I think she will also approve of me as something more. She also has = hinted to me about something more between us. I want to tell him how I = feel, but I'm afraid of rejection because of my hair. Do you know any = hair dye I can use to make my bleach-blond hair color go away? Rage felt a wave of nausea. 'This is sick,' he thought. 'And I thought = the people who killed Abby were horrid. The author is really insane. I = am just going to quietly slip this into the trash can, and pretend I = never received it.' He took a deep breath, and paused, afraid of what he = would find in the next letter. He grimaced, and slowly unfolded a sheet = of paper that read: I am a decent looking female in the prime of my life. I am staying with = my one true love, who also happens to be in a hoverchair. I adore = working for him, and am always in on his secret plans to conquer our = enemies. But lately the old spark just hasn't been there anymore. My = lover seems to be more interested in killing, fighting, new weapons and = hacking systems than me. What can I do? 'Stupid woman,' Rage thought. 'Imagine that she would think that I, = Ezekial Rage, would help her after she has tried to kill my daughter? = Never.' He typed furiously on the typewriter: Jump off of a bridge! It will spare you from my wrath! He then turned his attention towards the last letter he had received. It = read: I have just recently found out that my father has several children other = than me that he hasn't told me about, and all of these children were = illegitimate. My father still is unaware that I know about these = children, and never has mentioned them to me before. I am beginning to = think that the crazy people who always say something or other about a = war are right about my father. What should I do? A-teenaged-girl-who-for-the-last-time-is-NOT-Carla Rage's lips broke into a smile as he read the letter, and his eyes = started to glow like they had before the tragedy, before the accident = that took away his loved ones. But that would change. Carla had = contacted him! She was ready to come back to him! He typed furiously and = excitedly.=20 Dearest Carla, I'm glad you came back to your senses, and are ready to come home where = you belong. I will deliver you from the evil ones that surround you and = call themselves your friends. Don't worry, honey, Daddy will make = everything all right, just like it was before.=20 Love, Your Daddy Rage heard another pitiful whimper and glanced over towards the corner = of the office. Tied up to a chair was a simpering woman in a burgundy = business suit, her make up smeared by her tears. Rage took the piece of = paper out of the typewriter and set it down, satisfied, upon the desk. = He turned again to the woman, who looked at him with pleading eyes, and = he started to laugh. "The wicked shall be punished and the good = resurrected by a herald of paper, so sayeth the Book of Rage!" he = proclaimed. He got up from his desk and strode out of the room, locking = the wooden door behind him. The success of the day had made him almost = cheerful. Taking over Dear Abby was the best world conquering idea he = had had yet.=20 ------=_NextPart_000_0171_01BE4BC1.00213460 Content-Type: text/html Content-Transfer-Encoding: quoted-printable

Yep, another one from me. You may want to delete = it before=20 you fall into the clutches of another horrid fic by me...this one really = is=20 horrid, I don't even know why I posted it. So, enjoy *grimace* if that's = possible...-Celestia

 

 

Dear Rage

A lone figure peered out of the filthy windowpanes into the dark = night,=20 staring up at the full moon above. Everything around was silent, except = for the=20 occasional footsteps that sounded in the hallways outside of the room. = The=20 figure shifted slightly in the red swivel chair as to not wrinkle his = long,=20 black cape. He looked outside dreamily, his eyes glazing over as his = mind=20 drifted off to other things, of happier times. The sound of loud foot = falls on=20 the linoleum outside of the dingy little office brought Rage back to = reality=20 with a jolt, and his hand automatically tightened around his most = precious=20 possession: The Book of Rage. A small man in a simple-looking brown = cloak like a=20 monk's entered the room timidly. "Honored Rage, here are the papers = you=20 asked for. Everything you have told us to prepare is almost ready." = Rage=20 allowed his eyes to flick casually over the timid man before him, whose = knees=20 were visibly shaking. He recognized the man as Brother Ivan, a = middle-aged=20 newcomer to the cult who had come seeking revenge for the death of his = mother.=20 Rage remembered him well, as he did all of the members of his = "flock."=20 Very slowly and gently, Brother Ivan lowered a manila folder on to the = top of=20 Rage's desk, then scurried back from it as if it might bite. Rage = finally spoke.=20 "Go. Prepare for all," he instructed in a low, soft voice. The = man=20 nodded and nearly bolted out of the room. Rage held back his urge to = sigh, and=20 reluctantly picked up the folder in front of him and read the first = paper=20 enclosed. He skimmed over the first formalities until he came to the = body of the=20 letter. He put on his glasses and began to read:

I am a female in my twenties. I still live at home with my surviving = parent,=20 whom I don't even know the first name of. As you can guess, this causes = quite a=20 problem when I am signing up for my classes in karate and gun use = training. I=20 also have a twin sister who always manages to mess things up when my = family=20 tries to take over the world. I am very worried about myself, because = sometimes=20 I want to kill her when I am supposed to be killing an annoying 14 year = old boy=20 with unnatural looking blond hair. What do you think I should do?

Desperate Descendant of the Mongols

Rage thought a moment, then licked his lips and began to type on the = rickety=20 typewriter in front of him. He heard a whimper as he started, which he = quickly=20 disregarded. Annoying woman, he thought.

Dear Desperate Descendant of the Mongols,

Flee from your family of evil and hatred. Run away from both of the = evil ones=20 of your family, and come to your real family, the family that = will help=20 you wreak punishment on the evil ones!

'Another problem solved, another possible convert, Rage thought=20 satisfactorily. He pulled out a second sheet of paper, and read:

I am still in my teens, and I am totally in love. I can't help my = feelings=20 anymore. Every time I see him, I feel like my heart will burst. He's so=20 wonderful, and he has saved my life so many times, and is also my best = friend in=20 the world. His mother approves of me as his friend, so I think she will = also=20 approve of me as something more. She also has hinted to me about = something more=20 between us. I want to tell him how I feel, but I'm afraid of rejection = because=20 of my hair. Do you know any hair dye I can use to make my bleach-blond = hair=20 color go away?

Rage felt a wave of nausea. 'This is sick,' he thought. 'And I = thought the=20 people who killed Abby were horrid. The author is really insane. I am = just going=20 to quietly slip this into the trash can, and pretend I never received = it.' He=20 took a deep breath, and paused, afraid of what he would find in the next = letter.=20 He grimaced, and slowly unfolded a sheet of paper that read:

I am a decent looking female in the prime of my life. I am staying = with my=20 one true love, who also happens to be in a hoverchair. I adore working = for him,=20 and am always in on his secret plans to conquer our enemies. But lately = the old=20 spark just hasn't been there anymore. My lover seems to be more = interested in=20 killing, fighting, new weapons and hacking systems than me. What can I = do?

'Stupid woman,' Rage thought. 'Imagine that she would think that I, = Ezekial=20 Rage, would help her after she has tried to kill my daughter? Never.' He = typed=20 furiously on the typewriter:

Jump off of a bridge! It will spare you from my wrath!

He then turned his attention towards the last letter he had received. = It=20 read:

I have just recently found out that my father has several children = other than=20 me that he hasn't told me about, and all of these children were = illegitimate. My=20 father still is unaware that I know about these children, and never has=20 mentioned them to me before. I am beginning to think that the crazy = people who=20 always say something or other about a war are right about my father. = What should=20 I do?

A-teenaged-girl-who-for-the-last-time-is-NOT-Carla

Rage's lips broke into a smile as he read the letter, and his eyes = started to=20 glow like they had before the tragedy, before the accident that took = away his=20 loved ones. But that would change. Carla had contacted him! She was = ready to=20 come back to him! He typed furiously and excitedly.

Dearest Carla,

I'm glad you came back to your senses, and are ready to come home = where you=20 belong. I will deliver you from the evil ones that surround you and call = themselves your friends. Don't worry, honey, Daddy will make everything = all=20 right, just like it was before.

Love,

Your Daddy

Rage heard another pitiful whimper and glanced over towards the = corner of the=20 office. Tied up to a chair was a simpering woman in a burgundy business = suit,=20 her make up smeared by her tears. Rage took the piece of paper out of = the=20 typewriter and set it down, satisfied, upon the desk. He turned again to = the=20 woman, who looked at him with pleading eyes, and he started to laugh. = "The=20 wicked shall be punished and the good resurrected by a herald of paper, = so=20 sayeth the Book of Rage!" he proclaimed. He got up from his desk = and strode=20 out of the room, locking the wooden door behind him. The success of the = day had=20 made him almost cheerful. Taking over Dear Abby was the best world = conquering=20 idea he had had yet.

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