If are reading this letter, then my hourglass has come to a halt, concluding my time on this planet. After countless hours and many restless nights, I have come to accept that my fate is imminent—but it's alright. My final hours will be accompanied by the first piece of happiness I have experienced in my fifteen years on this Earth—death. The chirping of the morning birds will no longer be an issue, and the bruises on the limbs of my soulless body will become transparent.
The fear of the surrounding void after death has been overcome, but my actions have yet to speak—until you read this letter. I was never one to moan about the abuse I endured from my parents, nor about the peers who mocked my lack of perception, but they will face far more regret than I ever did.
As time passed, I sat and pondered about my fate and how the event would occur—almost in an obsessive manner. There came a few times I nearly led my white cane into oncoming traffic. It felt good to be the one in control for once, and not on the receiving end.
The wounds from self-incisions will scar my wrists but show my value. My screams are silent—and how they shall stay. The echoes of my cries will forever be instilled in my mind as a reminder that I'm gone—but still whole. My soul will resonate with my loved ones, offering peace and guidance at any given time. Although my eyes will never obtain perception, I will see clearly.
My confidence will become impactful, and my emotions will plummet. Hopefully, my death will seek vengeance on my mockery and imprison the ones in blame. The switch to my brain will flick, ending my suffering for good. The memories that once scarred me, will soon become irrelevant. The tables will turn, but the chairs will be welcoming new visitors.
My entity will become a legacy and educate the minds of abused city dwellers. The world is evil, but my thoughts are sinister. If I'm lucky, biting the bullet will leave my blood splattered on this note—reminding all the cruelty of poor judgment and sinister behavior. The lead will become a part of me, soaking every ounce of abuse out of my skin. The broken ribs and bloody knuckles will become insignificant. My attic will become vacant, expelling every traumatic thought out of my abused head.
I can feel the excitement pulsing through my veins as I write this letter. The boost of adrenaline I receive while holding the pistol to my head, imagining the bullet taking away my life, and granting me perception—gives me hope.
The bloodied knife from constant doubt is left displayed on my shelf, reassuring that my existence wasn't pointless—but meaningful. The red-stained carpet covering the hardwood floor of my room resembles my absence from this world.
The vengeance has now found the imprisonment of my parents. Their lifeless bodies in my attic creates the illusion that I'm no longer the abused one—but the one in power. My sentencing will occur, whether it's judgment day or the funeral of my not-so beloved parents. Until that day arrives, I am still left here without perception. To the ones that mocked my presence in this realm, this letter will be enough torture.
My dried tears will no longer embody the rivers in my mind, nor the boats that set sail on those very bodies of water. The captain of the expedition will understand my legacy and find a way back to the shipping dock—isolated from the rest of civilization.
The joints in my hands are aching while holding this pistol, and my mind has become hollow. The hourglass on the nightstand has run out, and now yours has just begun.
YOU ARE READING
Perception - Ink & Blood
HorrorThis story is a haunting and deeply emotional narrative from the perspective of a blind, abused young woman on the brink of suicide. She reflects on the torment she has endured from her parents and peers, finding a twisted sense of control in contem...
