Letter was being finded in a bags on eyeland on top of Hokkaido. 3 years-ish ago. Ununderstandableing. Can you making things of it?
I fear that I am fighting a losing battle. Every night I see the faces of the casualties, grotesque and distorted in their multitudes, asking me why I couldn't save them. I weep, begging for forgiveness. Please don't forsake me, I shout! I tried, I tried, I did! But they can't hear me, their bodies pushed up against the bars, their hands searching for me. If you can't save us, then join us! But I don't let them touch me. I'm too frightened to become one of them. Were I to become one of them, what hope would anyone else have? Tractors approach, dumping more and more bodies into the pit, swept under the rug and forgotten. All that's left is the hole in the world where they used to be.
The epidemic will soon be on par with God's wrath. It's coming. Oceans can't stop it. Take confession mother, for it's our only reprieve. Very soon the world will be thrown into confusion. Just five days ago, during a research trip to the uppermost reaches of the country, my colleague and I discovered the horrible fact. The epidemic has mutated.
Are you familiar with the island of Rishiri, just off the coast of the winterlands to the north? Perhaps not. Famous for its natural seclusion and beauty, it will soon become infamous for what it unwittingly spawned, that is if history itself even remains. Upon arriving at the port, my colleague and I sought a bit of sustenance. The journey through the winterlands was harsh and sapping. We saw signs of the epidemic everywhere. People of all ages were conjugating their verbs in the foul manner. "Let's going this way," they would say. I'm sorry for bringing up such a vile topic as I know your health is ailing, but I beg you continue reading this letter. I have no one else to tell, after what happened to my colleague. I know your mind is strong, if your body is not. Pray continue.
Where we had time we tried to save the young. But more often that not, we had to run lest a mob broke out. Oh! How it tore me up inside when I had to run away from a woman who had brought me her baby. It was clear that she was gone. "Let's saving my baby! Let's saving my baby!" she shouted hysterically, the tears welling in her eyes. The babe was merely eight, and of slight build. I had the English inoculation all set for him, but he looked me in the eyes and said, "Please am saving me." Hopeless. His grasp of the present continuous was incurable, probably learned from his mother in her best attempts to educate him herself, the poor fool. I ran. The inoculation would be better served on someone in the earlier stages, perhaps misplaced modifiers or maybe even plurals... She shrieked, "Don't running! Stop run!"
What could I do mother?! I know you've taught me that everyone must be valued and saved, but I can't! There's not enough of me. I can't miss the forest for the trees! How unfair this is, to be pushed into this position. This field seemed so glamorous when I was young and watched your work. The way you and your generation manipulated the English was astounding. But at some point you became too cocky with your power, and now me and mine are fighting against the depressing inevitable. Why aren't you here with me?! It was you who stood idly by as computers with spell check and grammar check took people's accountability away! You promised a world where everyone would be Gods with the English, infallible and terrible. It was you who applauded hacks like Vonnegut as they gashed the English, bending it to the point of breaking and abusing it for the amusement of the masses like a tamer beating an elephant. But tamers get old, and elephants never forget. Did you even think what would happen if people who weren't ready for the responsibility of the new English discoveries suddenly had it at their fingertips?
People in Japan experiment with the English, producing grotesque abominations of nature, flaunting them on T-shirts and buildings, not knowing the destruction they are perpetuating. And now, in America, in some pagan circles, those horrors are sought. The reverse shock will be terrible, and it's your fault.
I'm sorry. It's not all your fault. I know that. It's just sometimes I see how hopeless is it, and I look for someone to blame. Oh well, it won't matter soon. The next phase of the epidemic is upon us. Yes mother, it has happened. I have proof of the first case of 'noun conjugation.' What started as misplaced words and tenses has now evolved into something entirely different altogether. There is not even a semblance of sense anymore. I'm at a loss. I don't know how to fight this. It's too big for me. I'm sorry.
My colleague, hungry and tired, pointed to a restaurant and said we should eat there. At once I saw the sign and his disturbing non-realization of the egregious error. I gained control of myself and pretended like nothing was wrong, in case he tried to infect me. I immediately conjugated 'eat,' with all subjects and tenses, four times just like we practiced during lessons. I still don't know how my eyes didn't give me away.
At first chance, I took his wallet and fled the island, leaving him there with them...
Your ever loving son,
Derek
Enclosed is the picture. Please sit before looking.
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