Letters To Suicidal

o n e

Eumee Wyatt has been living her life with only one thought in mind : it was hell. After watching her apartment burn down into ashes, she winds up being expelled from school and losing everything she worked hard for. Without parents or any other living relative, she's on her own with thoughts that would kill her. She doesn't know what to do; so she writes a letter.

Kyler Wright is an orphan that lives in a house for orphan teens. With friends and a not-so-perfect life, he's contented - but everything changes when he reads a random letter on the street.

And it all started with letters to suicidal.

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Kyler frowned, a heavy feeling lingering in his heart after rereading the words on the crumpled piece of paper left on the sidewalk. Footprints where imprinted on the soft paper, and the words could hardly be readable, but Kyler managed to read through it all. Heaving another sigh, his eyes started to roam the sentences once more and his mind ran wary about this stranger's life.

"Life can give you so many unexpected things huh? For example, your parents being taken from you, your house burning down to ashes, your school kicking you out. I shouldn't be surprised. I mean, life just sucks for me. Now I'm parentless, houseless, schoolless. My landlord - the rude prick he is, wants me to pay for the burnt down apartment. Now I need a job, don't I?

I don't know if I can even find one place that will accept me. I'm only in my junior year of high school. Who would want a junior? I'm sure some juniors work in McDonalds, or the movie theatre, or maybe even a sales marketer of some sort. But the minimum wage of those jobs won't be enough for food, clothes, rent, and a new, yet old crummy apartment for me. I need a real job - a job given to those older people with high wages. But that's just another dream for me. High, up in the stars, unreachable.

Why are dreams always like that? You want to get them, you want to hold them in your hands and live your life to the fullest with it - but it seems like they want to remain that way. A dream. They want to be unreal, they don't want to be sucked into reality. Could I change that? I want to. But how?

I feel like if you've read this far and haven't run for the hills yet after finding a letter about someone's horrible life, you deserve to know more about me. During my birth, my father wasn't sitting there beside my mother whispering 'It's going to be okay' and 'Just push' into her ear. No. There was a plane that crashed that day, full of businessmen on their way to a convention.That plane was my father's.

Then - and then my mother gave birth to me. She spent a gruelling 28 hours going into labor, and so she was tired and exhausted - I took the life out of her. By the time my crying stopped and my body clean of blood, my mother was lying still on the bed, motionless. Nurses thought she was sleeping. But when they shook her body gently to wake her up and hand me over to her for breastfeeding, they felt cold ice surging through her. She was stiff, cold, dead.

My parents were gone on the day of my birth - my birthday. The death anniversary of my parents.

I've been celebrating three events every September seventh. The irony of the three events against each other is horrible. Happiness and sorrow. They were clashing together.

You're still reading, though guy?

I guess I should thank you.

You're not ripping this paper apart if you're still reading.

This is so stupid. I'm stupid. Writing a letter to a perfectly random stranger. Then leaving it on the brick wall, to be blown away by the wind, never to be read. Well, if you read it, then it's been read at least.

Dear stranger, I'm going to let you in on a big secret.

I just want it all to end. For all my problems to stop coming to me, you know? Yeah, as if you do know. Whoever is reading this must have problems, but not as big as mine right? Right. But right now, dear stranger, do you think I should go on with what I want to happen? Do I want to stop breathing, to stop living life as of now?

. . . of course I do. I want to live a better life don't I?

Even if it means I won't be exactly living.

Sweetly, Suicidal"

Kyler bit his lip, reading over the last word of the letter. Suicidal. Whoever wrote this was full of dreams and hope - Kyler didn't want the world the world to lose another one of those people. He ran his hand over the paper, the beautiful scribbled writing on it panging his heart. He had his own share of problems, but he never once thought of ending his life.

In fact, as he looked over the letter everytime, he could see the resemblance of the writer's life to his.

Parentless, orphan, poor.

So he did something - something he never thought he'd do in his life.

He fumbled with his hands to get a pen and something to write on. Feeling the hard, smooth skin of his pen, he took his hand out of his pocket and once again searched for a fabric to write on in his bag. Finding an old paper bag, he sighed and started scribbling on the brown bag before placing it on the brick wall and placed a rock on top of it addressed to "Suicidal".

HAYYYYYY. Okay, first off, this has nothing to do with Thirteen Reasons Why - though I absolutely loved the book ( OMG CLAYYYY! ) this was not really inspired by that. The idea just sprung on me and LTS happened. Gosh, it's so hard to write like this, I can't even put what I think into words.

Please leave a comment because I'd love to hear what you guys think. Criticism is absolutely welcome, just don't go ape crazy on me and hate like it's the end of the world or smth.

- aubrey