My dearest Alexander, my only grandchild who hasn't been corrupted by modern liberalism, or by elitist academic pursuit, or by political correctness, or by cultural relativism - my only remaining relative with a shred of hope and a chance for true success. You are now becoming a man, shedding the chrysalis of childhood, of ignorance. I hope this letter will inspire you to reconsider the world you find yourself in, and to make profitable decisions in the near future. I intend to tell you the truth, as best I can, about what matters, and about the world as I have come to know it, and about the wisdom I have gained through my experiences. You, Alexander, hold the key to your own salvation. I aim to make this key more visible, more accessible. Freedom and power are just at your eager finger tips, just within your reach. I was once a boy, like you, as strange as that may seem, but I have very few remaining memories from that era. In hindsight I have realized it was of little importance. I was a young and naive idealist, yet I espoused fate rather than free will. But the world is indifferent toward the destiny of mortals such as you and I. It is through a divine source, which enshrines the judgement and guidance we so desperately crave, that we may harness our gift of free will, and utilize it to our ultimate advantage. You see, my beloved Alexander, I have lived a long and purposeful life, but this saga could have been shrewdly derailed at any moment, especially during my late adolescent years, the crucial period you are now faced with.
Saturday, July 2, 2016
While vacationing in Vienna, just prior to the First World War, I was in close contact with an up-and-coming spy by the name of Mr. Allen Dulles. The young man had a promising future, and I intended to steer him in the right direction. Presenting myself as a wise and admirable mentor, I took this feeble lad - this warm body with gestating potential - under my wing, later utilizing him as a loyal pawn at the Office of Strategic Services. There was a certain unforgettable day, during the early stages of Project Paperclip, after I had arranged a meeting between a then middle-aged Dulles and former SS general Karl Wolff. These stalwart gentlemen were in high spirits when they finally joined forces to discuss a cessation of hostilities in Italy. Enthusiastically, I served the two of them countless portions of fine Scotch whiskey, allowing them to laugh heartily, kick up their feet, and bond like brothers in front of a fierce, glowing fireplace. I recall retreating to the shadows for what seemed like hours, lurking there in a dark, forgotten corner of the room, observing the interaction from afar. Suddenly, the men smiled maniacally and conducted a proud and brazen handshake, bellowing in agreement while maintaining a piercing eye contact. A wave of euphoria swept over me - I made this happen! I thought. And at that moment I realized the crisp American uniform adorning my naive protege became obsolete, losing all previously perceived significance. I leaned in closer, towering over Dulles while gazing into those hypnotic flames, imagining myself perched on his shoulder, plunging my talons into him before devouring his flesh. The power I wielded over him was like that of a predator over his prey.