Open Letter
2003-10-18 - 3:00 p.m.

DISCLAMER: Because of the format of this story and the fact that this is a diary, which you might expect to tell about real-life events, please be aware that the following is a story. It is not factual. It is simply a story in letter format. Thank you. Dear Everyone,

By the time you read this, I will be dead. I am very sorry to everyone who will find this upsetting. I don’t expect that there will be many of you, but for those who find this sad, I apologize.

My parents will probably be a little sad at first, but I don’t expect that it will take them long to get over it. Now there will be more room when guests come over, and you won’t have to worry about your black sheep son embarrassing you. You’re more likely to worry about what this little suicide will do to your social status than what it did to me.

My friends, what few I still have, will probably be saddened. I’m sure they’ll miss the benefits they got from being my friend. They’ll miss the pool parties, the free rides, the seemingly endless supply of cash (Thanks, mom and dad. It’s really doing me lots of good now.), and occasional jokes I used to crack. Still, they have each other, and they’ll cope.

My dearest Anna, I don’t imagine you’ll miss me at all. Not that you knew you were my dearest, of course, but would it have killed you (ha, ha) to be a little nicer to me? While you might have seen me as just another crushing teenager, I saw you as an angel. The words you found funny, I found excruciating. The flirting you enjoyed so much was like cheese in a trap for me; every time I bit, the trap snapped shut, and killed me. Well, good freaking job. You’ve finally killed me once and for all.

To everyone else, the ones who might think this suicide selfish, I would like to let you know that I don’t care what you think. You don’t understand, and you never will.

In spite of parents who pretended they loved me, friends who did nothing but use me, and a girl who refused to just want me, I still think that this is the best way out. Please excuse my vitriol.

Well, this gun can’t wait forever. It will be the last thing to ever hold my warm hand. I hope you’re all happy.

Lovingly,