Mark C. DenHoed and John R. Ahern found this manuscript in an old suitcase, abandoned by the roadside on I-80 in Nevada outside Reno. We’re posting it in installments because we’re having trouble deciphering the handwriting.

A Love Lost and Regained – By Russl* ******** (Here, the writing is particularly deplorable)

Like a lily, floating down a river, farther and farther from its origin,

So my love is lost, severed from its root -

Binding snapped that bound us, soul to soul.

It was a daydream, clear and simple.

But a nightmare came to overshadow all, dark and confused.

And when I awoke, my love had reached the ocean floor.

– Rosemary Grace, My Lost Love

To the young at heart.

I was coming in from a walk outside, only to find my mother – oh, she was so beautiful, even in death – lying sprawled on the floor with blood lining her beautiful lips. Her auburn hair looked so beautiful. I couldn’t speak. I didn’t remember anything after that, only waking up weeks later on a warm, cozy couch.

“Hi! I’m Jack.”

He had a freckled nose, a dimpled cheek, and azure eyes. His skin was brown and smooth, and his voice was deep and smooth. His face was not like sand. It was smooth. I knew at once I loved Jack, and would marry him someday.

“Hi. I’m – I’m – Cantaloupe.”

“What happened to your mother?”

“She drank the dregs of death.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Just shut up about it, OK?”

I was sad. My eyes were drenched in tears, and I ran from the room in a fit of rage, ready to tear down the walls, like I was as strong as an ox.

Weeks later, I said to Jack, “I’m sorry about what I said. I just sometimes feel like all this badness and evilness around me is making me bad and evil.”

“No, of course not, my dearest Canty. You’re a good person, deep down. You can’t let your anger get hold of you. Let it out. It’s not what you do that makes you, it’s who you are. Deep down. There in your heart.”

I smiled.

“Jack,” I said. “I have to go find my father. You’ll help me, won’t you?”

“No, Cantaloupe. This is your job. You must do it alone. You alone have the power to find where your father is.”

I nodded. “OK,” I said.

Chapter Two

As I was letting my beautiful auburn hair fall against the mauve and periwinkle pillow, there came a knock on the raven-black door. I fearfully got up from the cyan blankets on my bed and went to the door, unlocked the burly-brown lock, and there were Jack’s beautiful azure eyes, furtive, yet beautiful.

“Cantaloupe, I’ve changed my mind! I’ll help you find your father if I have to die first!”

I smiled. “OK,” I said. “You’ll always be in my heart, Jack!” I exclaimed. “We’ll never truly be separated – always one in spirit. Nothing can separate true love.”

These were among the happiest moments of my life.

“But Cantaloupe, how can we find your father? We don’t know where he is!”

“But I do, Jack… in my heart!”

In my heart, I knew we could find him. All people who love each other are connected throughout the world, I realized.

“You’re right. Oh, Cantaloupe, the world may seem so cruel, but we only need to look past it for love!”

We set off from the hut and soon came to a city. “Oh, Jack,” I exclaimed, “How – how shall we ever find him in th-th-th-this large ss-ss-city?” I felt my spirit falling, and I saw the deep waters of the river as a home to my grief-laden soul.

Jack slipped his strong arm around my shoulder and said in a deep, calm voice, “Let’s talk it over some drinks.”

Chapter 3

We were in the bar drinking – Jack’s dimple was so adorable when he was looking at me (it was only on the left side, and gleamed in the golden barlight) – when, the bartender came up to us and said, “Are you Cantaloupe Verbatim?” I nodded, and he made a terse motion with his head. “You’re father’s upstairs.”

As we went upstairs, I thought that I caught a rock hard glint in the waiter’s eye. Pausing deftly, and yet… suspiciously, at the top of the stairs, the bartender motioned for us to enter, once we did, he slammed the mahogany door, we were left in pitch-black darkness.

“Oh, Jack, we’re tr-tr-tr-tr-apped!

Tears rolled down my cheeks. “Everything is going wrong. We’ll never find my father now! What to do!”

“Cantaloupe, we’re trapped!”, Jack exclaimed.

“I just said that.”

“But it will be OK. Fate must have its course. We should just keep trusting in our hearts!”

Soon, after what seemed like a breathless eternity, I heard steps coming up the steps.

“Jack,” I screamed, clutching his strong, muscular arm, “someone’s coming!”

“Yeah, I’m not deaf,” said Jack in his impeccable wit.

Suddenly the door swung open and in strode the bartender.

“Well, Mr. Jack Collins, I see. You’ve run up quite the bill here, Jack. Did you really think you’d escape?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” exclaimed Jack, with an offended dignity about him.

“$12,000 in unpaid beverages won’t go unnoticed, Mr. Collins,” said the bartender.

“Oh, Jack,” I cried, despairing, “how could you?” I bawled bitterly, throwing my head towards my hopelessly flinging-about arms.

To be continued….