Dearest ****,
Hello! It’s me Charlie. How is it going? I hope you’re better than me, since I’m emotional really down at the moment.
It all began a while ago, when my father decided to leave the US for the reason that people lived to modern, unhealthy (including being fat) and he was afraid, that a war might destroy the US.
When we finally reached our destination, I was kind of happy, but felt a bit tired though. My first impression about the people who lived there was that they were really strange. They barely wore clothes, the children were naked anyway.
Everyday was a day of sweat and heat. We had to work all day long. While my father built up the “fat boy” the other “villagers” were busy holding a “farm” (that means to hold chickens and a few plants).
After a while the “fat boy” finally reached his whole clarity. With this machine we were able to make ice out of fire.
My father wanted to be like god for the natives, so he planed to carry huge ice blocks in each native village so they could admire his creation.
After a long march we finally reached a village. Too late we realized that the huge ice block had turned into a small ice cube.
When father proudly wanted to present the natives the ice, it melted in a split of a second. What we also found in that village were some white men, who got told from us, that they could come to our village whenever they wanted to, there they’d be save.
Some days after that, the men arrived and each men was carrying a gun. It didn’t take long, that father recognized that there was something wrong with those men and locked them away in the “fat boy” (in the hope they will freeze to death).
Deep in the night, I could suddenly here some shots, those men shot at the “fat boy”, my father just yelled “run” and we rushed away. Behind us there was suddenly a big, dark cloud growing in the sky. The ground was shattered by the bang of the explosion.
We found another place where we could stay and father built up a boat-house (which was even waterproof) from a few parts of old broken ships .
But when the flood came our house changed into a boat and we just drove down the river.
As we passed a village in the night, my father was shocked to see electricity in the jungle.
In the night when everyone slept, my father sneaked off the boat to emblaze the church.
When he tried to get on the “house-boat” again he got shot in his neck. The shot awaked everyone of our family and we were able to help our father on board again.
Finally we reached a beach. I rushed past to get help for my wounded dad. But when I came back, there was no sign of live from my dad any more.
I’m still depressed. I’ve got nightmares all the nights now. There’s no way to discribe, how it feels when your father dies. With him I lost a great fellow on the path of life.
Maybe we could meet soon, since I live in the
Best regards
~Charlie
