My True Love: a short story

25 December

Dear diary,

Today was Christmas Day. My true love bought me a tree and a bird. Thought it was a strange present, but what the hell. I don't care much for birds, but one is no big deal. I'll plant the tree in the back yard. It's meant to give fruit. Cool.

26 December

Dear diary,


My true love went out and bought me two more birds. At least they're a little smaller this time - won't take up too much space in the house. Still, three birds means a lot of bird seed. I hope my true love thinks to buy me a bird cage.

27 December

Dear diary,

Today my true love bought me three chickens imported from France. My true love's behaviour is really starting to confuse me. I have no idea why he thinks I should want three chickens, and I don't know what's so special about French chickens as opposed to chickens from anywhere else. The house is starting to smell and the chickens are clucking. I hope this stops soon.

28 December

Dear diary,

I am considering breaking up with my true love. Today the lunatic sent four more birds. My house is now filled with birds and there is bird crap everywhere. What's worse is that today's birds never shut up. I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight with all the noise. My true love seems to have a brain defect...

29 December

Dear diary,

All is forgiven. My house may be swarming with birds and fleas, but my true love has finally gotten it right. Today he sent me five rings made of gold! I'm so excited! I weighed them and everything - he spent some serious cash on today's present! Now if I could only get rid of the damned birds... Oh well. Maybe there's a zoo or something I can send them to.

30 December

Dear diary,

Well, it seems old habits die hard. I thought after the rings that that might be it for the birds. But this morning, amidst all the squawking and chirping, I woke up to discover that the moron my true love sent me six geese! As I speak they're running around laying eggs and snapping at my ankles. The rings were nice and all, but my true love seems to have an unhealthy obsession with birds. Perhaps he should see a psychiatrist.

31 December

Dear diary,

It's New Year's Eve. The pear tree hasn't borne any fruit yet, but I made myself a beautiful meal of goose egg omelet and French Hen Cacciatore. They say you can think better on a full stomach, so after the meal I sat down to come up with a way to get rid of all the birds - and possibly to get rid of my true love at the same time - when suddenly I discovered to my horror that my yard had been flooded and was filled with swans. My neighbours are starting to complain about all the birds and I have no idea what to say to them. With any luck the water will freeze and all the swans will die... Oh well. Tonight I'll get drunk, celebrate New Year's Eve, and hopefully wake up tomorrow to find it was all a bad dream.

1 January

Dear diary,

It's a new year. A time to give up old habits and get over old grudges. So I woke up this morning - hung over - determined to forgive my true love, provided he would stop sending me birds. After all, birds die but true love lives forever, right? What's a few geese and hens in the face of eternal love, right? Plus, there were those golden rings...

But I got a shock when I opened my door to the strange sight of eight cows each being milked by a milkmaid. I don't think the mooing is any better than the chirping, really, but at least it's a change from all of the birds, right? Plus, I've got all the milk I need. Milk goes well with goose eggs.

2 January

Dear diary,

Things are getting problematic. The eight milkmaids need food to eat and a place to sleep. They're really good at milking cows but that's really not enough to justify their living in my house. I had to make them sleep on the floor last night, and they all got bitten by the geese. Plus I'm all out of French hen by now, so I'll have to start slaughtering the geese.

The problem has been compounded now by the fact of my psychotic true love sending along nine dancing ladies. Yeah, I like a good dance as much as anyone, but what am I going to do with nine women who are useless for anything except dancing? Where am I going to find space for 17 people in my house? This is a lot to put up with for five lousy rings. I wonder if the rings can serve as brass knuckles? That way I can break my true love's jaw for the hell he's putting me through.

3 January

Dear diary,

I have put a price on my true love's head. Whoever kills him and brings me the body can have any of the five golden rings. In addition to the milkmaids and the dancers, my true love has now sent along ten upper-class twits who insist on leaping around the house. I have no idea who these people are and why he keeps sending them - I'm starting to suspect they're fugitives on the run.

I have now slaughtered most of the birds to feed this army of people in my house. At least the avian stench is starting to dissipate at the house, but with all the dancing and leaping I can barely hear myself think. What I wouldn't do for just some peace and quiet!

4 January

Dear diary,

Please God, if you're out there, put an end to this agony. I think I'm going insane. I couldn't sleep at all last night - the lords keep leaping into the dancing ladies and they collide and fall all over the place, breaking all of my furniture. They're all grumpy now from having little to eat except whatever dairy products we can get from the milking maids. I keep telling them if they're hungry to just go away, but they insist that as they're presents from my true love, they're bound to stay.

I'm going to kill my true love with my own bare hands.

In any case, just when I'd gotten the lords and the ladies to sit still and when I finally thought I'd have a moment's peace, what do I hear but eleven morons playing pipes? Now my house is filled with the din of eleven instruments playing at the same time. Plus that eleven more deadbeats sponging off of me. What am I going to do?

5 January

Dear diary,

This will be my last diary entry. I write this from a jailhouse where I am to be hanged for murder. I am guilty. I had started to go hysterical from the lack of sleep. The constant shrieking of the pipes kept me awake all night. Mayhem broke out when I lost it and beat one of the pipers to death with his own pipe. The agony of this even caused several of the lords to leap out of the top floor window to their deaths, which frightened the milkcows, who then trampled several of the milkmaids. So my house was filled with dead bodies.

Luckily I came to my senses a little once the dancing ladies started shrieking and calling out for police. I took the body of the dead piper and buried it in the floorboards in my bedroom. The cops came and examined the bodies of the dead lords and milkmaids. Luckily, foul play was ruled out as it was clear that the lords were suicides and the milkmaids were accidents.

I thought I was in the clear. I was confident enough even to offer the officers some fresh milk. When suddenly I heard it... the pounding. The incessant thump-thump-thump... the beating of a heart. Not my heart... but much, much worse.

I couldn't stand it anymore. I tore open the floorboards. "Villains!" I shouted, "I admit the deed! Here! Here! It is the beating of his hideous heart!"

...But it wasn't. It was twelve drummers drumming at my front door. A final gift from from the evil, cruel spirit who took my life from me. My true love. My death.