Letters to Ducky-Prologue
Tim sighs as he looks at the antique roll top desk that's been sitting there, staring at him for almost a month now. He's been avoiding it, or trying to ever since it arrived on his doorstep a week after Ducky's funeral. He glares at the polished surface and can almost see Ducky frowning back at him for not keeping his promise to him, to start writing again.
Tim wipes a tear away, acknowledging how much he misses the M. E. He's not sure what prompts him, but shortly he's pulling some paper out of his printer and starts rooting around in some of his old college supplies. A quill pen, still in its wrapper, a gift from an old friend who'd loved his calligraphy writing so much she'd given him not just the quill but new nibs and in the corner of the box…there it is…an unopened ink bottle.
Tim shakes the bottle and opens it, verifying that there is still ink inside. He dips the quill in and starts writing.
I'm not sure exactly how much of this applies to you but as you know, "The Celts are a flamboyant people who loved to hear themselves talk and revered the power and magic of the spoken word."
I may not be the verbal communicator that you were and I've always been better at writing my feelings down, so I've decided to write these letters to you so that you'll know we've all been attempting to keep our promises to you...some of us more so than others maybe, but you know, we miss you Ducky and this will be our way of telling you so.
A/N: Special thanks to Alix33 a reader/reviewer for her supply of quotes including the one in this small prologue.