My Name is Jarl and I Am Your Father

My Name is Jarl and I Am Your Father

My nama is Jarl Ollison, son of Sara and Olliant, now, forgotten and forsaken by all I have ever known. Cast out into the wilderness like an old dog with no teeth. So I head south toward the sea: hoping I can earn passage on a trade ship to our ancestral home: Nang. I may never meet you, son or daughter, but I write these letters in the hope a few will reach you.

Please don’t worry yourself about me. Don’t worry about a thing, cause every little thing is gonna be alright. This is my message to you, young one. I know I am creative and resourceful enough to avoid most trouble. And I am not delusional enough to expect to make a new start somewhere, but I am hopeful enough to believe I can find the power to forgive myself for what I have done to you and your mama.

I’ll go back to the day it all started. It was the 22nd of October, the morning after a hard freeze. I was collecting acorns for my mother and then decided to nap in the afternoon sun. Suddenly, my nap was interrupted by what I assumed was a cloud drifting through the sky. I opened my eyes to discover that the moon had begun to pass between the earth and the sun. As this was happening I thought, “It this the end of the world? Will I join today my ancestors in the great hall in the sky?” Both of those statements will prove to be right in their own weird way. But no need to skip ahead, right, my child?

I was full of fear that day. But by the by the sun returned in all his glory.

Next day, I woke up as usual with the Sun, driven by a chariot across the sky. My usual chores awaited my attention, even though I had no heart to do them on this cold, bright morning. For the night before the love of my life had rejected my advances with a cold snub. ‘She must be a lesbian,’ I told myself as I walked away: holding back tears. ‘Funking kunt.’

Later, as I ate my oats and honey, I tried to put Sha Head out of my mind and heart, but nothing worked. Sha was the only woman, with the exception of my mother, that I had ever loved in my, so far, short life. I knew deep down that there would be others, but I still hurt like hell. Determined not to tell anyone, especially Sha, how I felt, I told my old tom cat: ‘Fuck ‘em.’

By late afternoon, events came to pass that never have, nor will ever, happen again . . .

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