Smokescreen

20

Mom and Dad,

I don't want you to blame yourselves. It was never you. It was never the school. It was my fault. I'm sorry for not keeping regular contact these past few years. I told you that I was busy with school, friends and college prep. In truth, I'm pretty sure that I won't even make it to college. I don't think I even have friends anymore. I'm fifteen at the time that I write this. Mike's funeral has just happened. You were there, Dad. You gave me a hug and told me that it was all going to be okay. You said that Mike was in a better place. But, Dad, what if I want to be in that place too?

I blame myself. I think I do. I think that's why I've had such self-loathing since it happened. I know that the school told you about the lab accident. I knew better. I'm sorry. I can keep apologizing, but I know it won't heal the loss and the hurt that you'll feel. I just wanted you to know I didn't blame you. You are the best parents I could have asked for.

I've killed more people than I can count. I've set up others' deaths and watched as they fell into my traps. Does it make me a monster if I enjoyed it? Am I so broken that I revel in their suffering, even if they're people manipulated into a position against me? I'm no longer that kid that you sent off to school in hopes that he could get a better life. I think that I killed him too. I'll find some time to add on to this. I love you.

Your son,

Ben

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Zoe,

I never got to tell you what happened with Mike, but I don't think I'll ever get around to it. You probably won't even read this letter. I was the one who killed Mike. Both indirectly and directly. There was a stab wound through his head, though you probably didn't even notice, what with the gunshot wound. That was from me. He asked me to end it, Zoe, but I hesitated. He was in pain, and I hesitated when my best friend asked me to help him.

Mike has been dead a year, and I honestly didn't think that I would make it this long. I tried killing myself, a few weeks after Mike left. I blame myself, as I should. He shouldn't have joined. I shouldn't have let him, but I know that he was always better suited for it than I was. Maybe he should have been the one in my position, the one brought in to draw out the mole. God knows he wouldn't have made the same mistakes that I did.

I see you occasionally in the hallways. We haven't talked since Mike's funeral, when you looked into my eyes and flinched. Do you see the eyes of the killer that I do each time I look into a mirror? You look happier without me, you, Chip and Jawa. I think that I've distanced myself because I realised that you would be safer and better off. I've realised that it's time to fully do so.

As much as I try to hide it, I miss you. I really do. I miss our talks about how socially inept I am. I miss those nights in your common room playing truth or dare or Uno or Cards Against Humanity when we pretend that we're just kids.

Sorry,

Smokescreen

---

Mike,

You would've been seventeen yesterday. I remember when we were ten, you proclaimed that sweet sixteens were overrated and told Elizabeth Pasternak that you were going to celebrate your last year as a kid while I stuttered in her presence. If you were here, I'm sure that I'd still be friends with everyone else. You somehow became the glue that stuck us all together. If you were here, I'm sure you'd tell me that I was being stupid.

It seems that my inclination to distance myself from everyone for safety has come back to bite me in the ass. My paranoia is whispering in my ear right now, asking me what would happen if anyone found this letter. You'll never get to read it, of course. Am I justified? Was it really for the good of my friends, or was it some selfish reason? Maybe I'm just afraid of seeing their blank eyes staring into mine like yours did.