As I write this, I am making hurried preparations to travel
to my wife’s cousins’ house in Leatherhead, where we should be secure from the
recent happenings. The second cylinder
has fallen! A second after midnight, the
throng gathered on the Chertsey Road saw a “shooting star” falling into the
wood. It caused a still brightness like
none had ever seen. Some call it
beautiful, some majestic, and some terrifying.
On another note, (for I’m sure many of you would wish to hear about the
Martians on Earth), the Martians had been surrounded by military last night. When I caught wind of this, I departed my
home for the woods, where I found several soldiers discussing among themselves
what should happen. I deliberated with
them for a time, but soon excused myself to go down to the train station to
gather as many different newspapers in hopes of filling in the gaps of the
story. They shared nothing I didn’t
know, only some muddled accounts of the deaths of Henderson, Stent, and
Ogilvy. Although that afternoon passed
interminably slowly, I will not bore you with meaningless details, and instead
resume my account at six o’clock, when my wife and I were taking tea. I was rambling on – ah, how often I do that!
– when I heard a stifled discharge. I
raced onto the lawn, and gazed at the tips of the trees surrounding the
Oriental College as they ignited. Soon
after, the entire College was taken to the ground. As my wife and I stood, shocked, one of our
chimneys burst apart and crumbled.
Racing into action, I thrust her into the road, and ran back inside to
fetch the servant. As I told her that we
couldn’t continue residing here, another burst of gunfire opened as if to prove
my point. When she inquired as to where
we would go, I had no answer until I probed my mind. Thus, we are going to her cousins’ house, by
way of a horse-and-dog cart belonging to the landlord of the Spotted Dog. I must hurry!
Your ever-faithful reporter, William Russell.
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