letters [Theme] Page 4

MIKE, buddy! Hi, how is it? I don't often write letters, but I decided to draw you here!
How are you doing with the infusion into the team? Ok? Good to hear! I can't believe we both serve on the Nega. Yeah, I've sent them a dozen requests and we've kind of been serving together for the last few years, but really, is that cool?!
By the way, can you do that? And? And that? SO!... Oh, that's not a video. Yes. Anyway, I did it like it there, I did it like... Push ups... well, you get the understanding. Only with the C1 model on the back. That's it! Ta-dam!
Okay... it's time to run. I will fry the valelsi hive from the cannon. As if not to be late for transport! See you!
Your best friend, Montana.
P.S. Vote to make my main theme the anthem of OMR!

In the old catalogs of the library of the Academy of Sciences, Hannibal's own handwritten letters and lists of books from his personal library have been preserved. Most of it - books on mathematics, military sciences, philosophy, history; fiction. In total, there were 347 book titles in the library.

After the letter from cultural figures in defense of "Pusek", I generally seriously thought that our country needs a new cultural appeal. "Media persons" can only tickle the audience in different places. They have discredited themselves. The Hippocratic commandment should also be extended to culture: do no harm. If you can't make a person better, don't you dare corrupt him.

You know, after the death of loved ones, you change, unfortunately, for the worse. You stop seeing the world as it really is. No, the world does not plunge into black and white, the world is still the same. You know, the colors are still the same. You still get up in the morning, check your Instagram feed, like something, then, as usual, crawl to the coffee machine in order to drink a hot latte and read your work letters at the same time. Everything seems to be the same as always: blue sky, green grass, the same job, you come to the office wearing the same things as always, you laugh at the same jokes as always. You return to an already empty house, but everything seems to be there as always, even dust in the same places. Nothing changes. The only thing that happens is that there is nothing you can do. This is the worst torture - waiting when nothing can be done. Awaiting the forensic medical examiner's report. Waiting for the last piece of earth to fall on the coffin. All life comes down to waiting: waiting for the murderer to be caught, waiting for the court verdict seems to be one more moment and life will become easier. Everything will return, there will not be this endless heaviness in the chest, there will be no desire to drown out thoughts with alcohol, there will be no desire to put a drill to the temple at one moment to drown out everything that is going on in the head ...

I catch myself thinking that I always want to quote Dzerzhinsky himself. His diaries. His letters. And I do this not out of a desire to facilitate my journalistic task in any way, but because of my love for his personality, for the word he said, for the thoughts he felt.

Mr. McQueen, after our last conversation, I have established the real name of your late host.
- What are you saying!
- Ratchett, as you yourself suspected, was his fictitious name. In fact, he was Cassetti, the gangster who oversaw the kidnapping and murder of little Daisy Armstrong. You didn't know that?
- No, sir. If I knew, I would have cut off my right hand so I couldn't print his lousy letters and killed him with my left hand!

... Keeping someone's letters always means something.

Letters have been sent. They appeal to all men of the Kingdom with a demand to answer the call and join us on the battlefield. They said that the rumor about the upcoming battle will live on for many generations. This is a battle you cannot hide from this battle you can't stay away. Every husband needs to find a weapon, each man must fight. Wessex will always be light. No matter how heavy will be our swords - we have to beat. Beat! Beat until the end until we win.

In the first lines
My letter
The road is open
Long as you braid.

- This letter I received many years ago when I got sick, my wife.
- The seal is still intact.
I was afraid to see what was there. But not anymore.
- "My dear Charlie, I don't know if you're getting this letter, but I pray God in heaven that it were in your hands and you're fine. I can still feel the warmth of your touch, the night they tore you from my arms, ripped from our children, taken away from me. I ill, I think I am not long. I'm sorry that I couldn't hug you one last time. With love, your wife, Delilah."
- Time to go home. How many years of my life, I wanted to know what it means to be a free man. Now I know. See you later, friends. Thank You, Declan.

Our letters were given open Burnashevo and sent them to the office of the commandant, then went to the office of the civil Governor of Irkutsk, and finally to St. Petersburg in compartment III of the office of his Majesty, so that they were infinitely long time until it got to our relatives.

Our arrival brought a lot of benefit to prisoners. You do not have permission to write, they were deprived of news of their own, as well as any financial assistance. We wrote them, and from that time they began to receive letters and parcels.

In fact the worst of the impossibility in time to receive letters is that all the feelings during the journey had changed. What could upset him in the past. And the sunsets that he describes are far behind.

Sometimes, closing his eyes.
His poem about the wounded heart
I recited it.
In a letter from him
Even the joke sounded sorrow.