June 27th, 1914:

Today started out like any other day. I was a bit hungover from grabbing a drink and going to the cinema the night before, and it still never ceases to amaze me how well the real world can be captured in a black and white film. The headache that has already begun to plague me was expected, and most certainly worth it.

After rolling out of the bed, I dipped my head below the faucet and drank what felt like at least two liters of water. My morning routine as of late has consisted of eating eggs with a dash of salt and paprika, shortly followed by a walk through the town square to get some fresh air.

Lately during my trip, I have been keeping a keen eye on one particular house that has seen a rather odd amount of coming and going compared to usual. I doubt anyone else has noticed this, but when you partake in the same activity for months on end, you begin to pick up on a thing or two.

The estate in question is painted olive green, but it is tarnished to no end. Overgrown bushes and shrubbery pollute the property, almost as if they are the real tenant rather than whoever actually lives there. I’ve come to believe that the reason for the recent activity is due to a college student moving in for the semester, and if I overheard the conversation between the older couple and this new figure correctly, then I believe his name is something close to Gabriel.

I’m not sure why I have an off feeling about him. Maybe it’s because I don’t easily welcome new people into my life. Or maybe it’s because this Gabriel character exudes a type of arrogance that can be seen from his posture and facial expressions alone. Either way, I have come to terms with the fact that I do not like him.

That’s all I have time to write about today though. Work at the accounting firm that Grandma set me up in awaits, and the world almost certainly won’t keep spinning if I don’t keep our client’s books correctly.

Sigh.

Yours,

Othello

June 28th, 1914:

During my morning walk today I noticed that the olive-green house is no longer bustling with its usual racket.

Dare I say it looks entirely empty? I laugh out loud to myself when I think of the shrubbery finally emerging victorious and overtaking the home.

It is rather odd though, considering for the past six months I haven’t been able to focus on the birds that I used to feed scraps of bread to while venturing around the corner. There has been an odd amount of yelling coming from their home for the past few weeks in particular, and even more college folk have come and gone as well.

Good riddance to all of them I say. Gabriel, or whatever his name was, I am especially happy to see gone for some odd reason I can’t explain. It’s rather unfortunate that the older couple left though, as they have been a pillar of my people watching entertainment for the last couple of years.

I’m looking forward to getting back to my undisturbed walks in the meantime, and I hope the flock of birds that used to gather on that street corner begin to come back now that the noise may begin to tone down once again.

Before I went back home to write in my journal, I was able to grab a luxurious pastry that is usually out of my budget. Anything goes when my weekly coin comes in though, with a buttered slide of cornbread being my vice of choice whenever I can afford it.

It’s nothing remarkable to most, but for me, the sun shines just a little bit brighter every morning that I’m able to share with one.

On my walk back home, I noticed the older couple through the window, which made me unexpectedly happy to see. That house is too special to be abandoned, I thought.

Off to work again with that said, and let’s hope this peace lasts longer than a day.

Yours,

Othello

June 30th, 1914:

Oh. My. Days. It was Gabriel. I can’t believe it.

The outskirts of Bosnia are usually nothing special. I suppose they still aren’t. But something devastating happened in a nearby town yesterday.

Archduke Franz Ferdinand was murdered, and it was by Gavrilo Princip.

The name I overheard from my neighbor’s lips was not Gabriel. It was Gavrilo.

My accounting firm gets the newspaper every other morning, and the front page was plastered with a photo of the young college student’s photograph just below the story sharing that the AD was assassinated.

I didn’t particularly like anything I have heard about Ferdinand, but someone murdering him? I simply could not believe it. Certainly not that the same person who struck the final blow took up residence only a few houses down from me for half a year.

My hand is shaking as I write this, and it is simply baffling that I was the only one who has made this connection so far. Did nobody else see him or his friends? Why did they even decide to do this?

I simply must stop journaling now, and moreover, I have to visit the olive-green house when I’m free next.

Maybe the owners of the olive-green house will have answers.

Yours,

Othello

June 31st, 1914:

I swear the old couple must have heard my heartbeat from a mile away, because when I approached the door, the older white-haired man opened it up before my knuckles could even rap against the oak.

“Come in Othello! We have been expecting you after all. Nobody has taken notice of our nephew Gavrilo visiting quite like you have. We all noticed you staring at our house with disdain more times than once, you lackey!”

This cannot be happening to me right now, was all I could think.

His wife had the table set for three with an open seat… for me? She spoke with a voice that I could only think to describe as gently wrinkled.

“Oh dear. We were devastated to see the news too. Gavrilo was certainly a stubborn lad, but we didn’t think he was capable of this sort of reaction to the Archduke sleeping with his girlfriend!”

My jaw dropped through the floor and into the cellar at this remark. I had no words to say that weren’t laced with shock.

“Gavrilo murdered the Archduke, because he stole his girlfriend?!”

The man who can now be identified as Gavrilo’s Grandfather patted me on the back and breathed out a heavy sigh.

“It seems to be so. When he had his friends over, they always talked about wanting to get back at Franz for what he did – I just assumed they were joking about!”

I sat there wordless. Dumbfounded at what this could mean for Bosnia. Until his Grandfather said the words that will forever be etched into my memory.

“What’s the big deal? It’s not like this is going to start a World War or something. I’ll sure miss my nephew, but at least the birds are back now that those loons have left town.”

All I could do after that was stand up, politely decline their invitation to stay for dinner, and go back to living my life.

Hopefully whatever’s to come next won’t be that big of a deal.

Yours,

Othello