Dear Giuliano

Abstract

Alessandro’s fingers itched to trace the words, to caress the parchment that had been pilfered from his family generations ago. Had his granduncle been able to read that letter, the history of his family would have been vastly different. Maybe he wouldn’t be here, staring aimlessly at his grandfather’s name. DEAR GIULIANO. The calligraphy was immaculate, but Alessandro’s attention was, as always, drawn to the blotched period; the ink bled outwards, not revealing whether it had been smudged by the harried sleeve of a tunic or smeared by a tear. If he squinted, he could see the slit in the parchment where a knife had gone through: a small mark of violence auguring the dried blood that crusted the back of the letter, testimony of the parchment’s vain attempt to save its recipient. The letter reeked of existence and anguish, a testament to their family’s miserable suspension between injustice and ineptitude. [excerpt]