My office has come to expect verbose, ridiculous stories from me. The following correspondence is the result of my coming down sick. I had missed the previous day and wrote in to tell them that I was still too sick to work. Enjoy!
Hey guys. I was hoping this wouldn’t happen, but I am unable to work today. I’m very sorry.
How dare you call in without some outlandish excuse! Make something up like a meteor struck my house or you were abducted by aliens and heavily abused. Something!
Ha ha ha! It’s true. I guess I do owe you an explanation. See, when I left my circus troupe in Nepal, it wasn’t on the best of terms. The thieving and conning we performed from city to city had begun to wear on my conscience. So, one overcast evening, I packed up my meager belongings and disappeared into the night.
For the next three years I traveled alone, wandering from town to town, losing myself in the mundane. I performed odd jobs to survive. I relied on my finely honed acrobatic skills and deftness with sleight of hand to make me valuable to employers. Eventually, though, the questions would start and I would move on.
I thought . . . no, I hoped I had left that life behind me. I hoped, but I never really believed. You see, on the night that I slipped away, I tipped off the local constables to the larceny that was to come. They raided my troupe that very evening. In my travels I would hear rumors. The troupe had resisted. Some had died. Some had been captured.
Now, an ocean away and a lifetime later, they have found me. My day today has been a montage of chasing and fighting. As I lie here now, tears of regret for the fallen, for my one time companions, roll down my cheeks. They mingle with the drying blood stains. Much of it is mine. Too much of it isn’t.
Is this the end? Is it finally over? Will I be able to live in peace and go to work tomorrow? I always hope, but now . . . I dare to believe.