#sf rewrite

Courier had showed it alternative ways to “write”, but it wanted to do it with pen to paper. It had gotten better over the years, but it still wasn’t proficient. It knew it was better than the child, though.

Observer was slightly curious as to why it, the both of them for that matter, struggled so much. Had the Church not provided them with an education? …Perhaps it should have been more grateful for the post man’s mother. It would get her flowers after it finished this letter.

Its hands were shaking, and it found itself more comfortable attempting to write in cursive. It helped to hide the spelling mistakes as well.

It signed off on the letter, folding it carefully and putting it into a decorated envelope. The post man had gifted them to it, and Observer always found itself too sentimental to use them…but what was the point in having them if they were never put to use? If nobody else got to see them? It understood the post man’s perspective, he enjoyed letters, and letters were meant to be shared. So it would share them for him.

It shifted as it looked up towards the ceiling in the dark room. Only the candles providing any light. It was a yellowish color, but it was traditional. It mind drifted to Angel. Did it want a friend? It didn’t understand, it hadn’t even felt this way for the post man, and their relationship could be described as “friends”, if one so pleased. The post man had described the feeling of desiring a friend to it before, and it supposed this was similar.

Would having a friend displease the Light? …Being friends didn’t necessarily constitute love. Was that just Observer making excuses? Would it be left in the dark if it pursued friendship with the Angel? Did it even want friendship?

It could ask the Light, it could pray and beg for an answer, but it was afraid it didn’t want one. It wanted to leave itself suspended in the truth. It didn’t want to be told that it couldn’t have this or it would lose the Light as well.

It would ask the Angel to be friends. was that what it wanted?

It pressed its hands together again, asking for forgiveness.

it wasn’t sure it would be granted this time.

Observer flinched at the way he referred to it, as if it were being talked down to. It was not. It knew that, of course. Mostly. The greeting reminded it of someone. Perhaps it would send a letter.

…You may refer to me as Observer. It seems that has been the name bestowed upon me, this time around.

Observer was used to being given different names. It saw no issue with it, identities change, from time to time. This name was simply much different. Though, it was always fond of flowers.

I am..new, in a sense. This place has changed very much since we had…Since I had last visited.

Observer commented, before deciding it would be rude to not finish the expected interaction.

It considered the thought for a moment. Where would home be? Wasn’t it home now? Did it desire to visit the post man again? Didn’t it know that wasn’t its home?

We are home now. Isn’t it—

Nooo!! I want to go back home to her!! It’s no fair that we don’t get to see her anymore!!!

Wh- what? The post man’s mother? Little lamb you know she’s passed o-

UGHH NO! You’re so DUMB peony! and stop calling me that! I have a NAME!!!

That you refuse to tell me.

…that’s ‘cause its dumb…

Observer sighed, rather frustrated. It hadn’t a clue how long the child’s spirit had been bothering it by now, but it refused to tell. And it seemed intent on keeping it that way. The situation clearly benefitted neither of them, so it didn’t understand why it wouldn’t just tell it what it needed to know.

It didn’t even know why it was so insistent on calling it Peony. It had explained its name before, and that people were calling it Observer now, but it seemed quite set on the nickname.

peony why are we back at the church again? i don’t want to be here.

Oh, it’s fine. The Church is home, we are loved here. The Light is here!

i don’t think we’re…

Think before you speak. …think? Regardless, there is no need to be blasphemous, at least not whilst we are on the holy grounds. Think like that when we are ‘home’, otherwise they might hear you.

…

Don’t you like the flowers?

i do. but we could plant flowers at home too.

…We…well we could, but isn’t it meaningful to have them in a place they would be loved?

they’re gonna drown in it.

And to drown in love would be a favored fate.

…whatever you say.

We’ll go home and write a letter to the postman after I leave my prayers and offerings for the Light, I promise little one. I am sorry for whatever grief this is…causing you I suppose.

you could call me a real name!

I could. If you told me one.

…

It sighed, it wasn’t going to get anywhere with that, was it? What a frustrating child. It clenched its jaw, it wasn’t very creative, and neither was the postman, so it couldn’t ask him for help either. It could ask the Angel, but it felt that would be a bit offputting for someone that had just met it. In fact, it was offputting for it!

Which of those flowers did you like again? Dandelions?

those aren’t flowers, they’re weeds…but umm yeah.

How about I just call you Dandelion for now then?

you’re no good at nicknames…

I’m not, but I don’t think Peony is much better.

HEY!!! i think it’s nice! peony’s are pretty too!!! i was being nice!!! you’re calling me a weed!

you might as well be. I thought you liked them?

I do!!!!! i do!!!! why does that matter!!!

Right. Well that’s what I’ll stick with until you give me something you prefer.

okay…

….

when we go home can you get me some fruit?

Of course, if we have the money.

i’d just steal it.

The Light would not approve of such things.

well the light can drown for all i-

Not on the Church grounds, dandelion.

okaaayyy.

It tapped its pen on its desk and its foot on the hardwood in unison, it was the middle of the night but it couldn’t get itself to fall back asleep. It scribbled down something, attempting legible writing. It would send this letter to the post man. It would refrain from mentioning the Angel though. It did consider the advice the post man would give it, he always seemed to be very friendly after all.

…so, it should make cookies, right?

Cookies should be relatively easy to make, they seemed simple enough. Observer’s lack of confidence stemmed more from the fact majority of its “help” for the post man was related to washing or gathering. It didn’t mind, in fact it preferred it, honestly! It could probably gather the just of what it remembered the last time the post man made cookies.

Hello, er, nice to meet you. I’m Angel! Well my full name is “Angel of Light” but I much prefer the title Angel. Much less wordy, wouldn’t you say? What is your name?

Observer gave them a look, their mouth pressing into a firm frown at the way they’s introduced themself. Was this meant to mock it? They were no true Light, how they could even claim that felt like a spit in the face. And then, to claim the name was “wordy”, The Light was not “wordy” or to be dismissed. It felt insensitive, Observer couldn’t help but be off put by them.

Hello. I am Observer, if you must know.

It kept itself quiet for only a moment, before giving in to speaking its mind.