22nd February 2016
Dear Mark,
I realised there's no point me writing the address if it's fake. So from now on, I'm not going to bother. I'm sure you don't care, but I needed something to start this letter off with. It's a sleeples night again. The nightmares haunting the dark. I'm sure you know what I mean. I don't have to tell you how scary they are. I didn't murder anyone though, not really. Well... a long time ago I did. You remember that murder that Paul Willow got blamed for? Probably not, but yeah, that was me. I didn't mean too. It was an accident. But I suppose I need to tell somebody what I did this time. Get it off my chest. So lets call this letter part one. It'll take a while to explain, I'll have to tell it from the beginning. So here you are, this is chapter one of the story of me and Jack Withers.
It all started in the June of 2015 Mr Sheehan, the summer after we'd left college. Me and Jack, we'd met two years before, by accident of course, practically everything in my life is. It'd been a party. You know. Everyone's young, they have the opportunity to drink as much alcohol as they want. You can probably guess what happened with Jack and me. My child is fine. You weren't expecting that were you. 19 years old and I have a three year old child. He has the same birthday as you. I was very proud of that fact. But yes, as I said, most things in my life are an accident, but not my son. He's one of the little rays of sunshine I have. Anyway, back to last summer. We were at the park, all three of us. Jack and I...we weren't a couple anymore. We'd broken up when Billy (Not his real name of course) was born. Jack claiming he wasn't ready to be a father, angry with me after I'd refused to kill the baby. kind of ironic really, me refusing to kill. My mum and dad weren't happy with me. They'd disowned me of sorts. So we were at the park. Catching up after a year of not seeing each other. He told me he'd warmed to the idea of being Billy's father, he told me he wanted to get back together. I'm not that smart, so I said ok. And there we were. The first small mistake in a chain of larger ones. He said he'd pack his stuff up in the morning and move in with us, or we could move in with him if we wanted. But we decided it'd be best if he came to us, Billy had all his friends here and all that. So the next two days were a frenzy of cardboard boxes and moving vans, and slowly my tiny apartment was filled up with someone elses stuff. It was nice having a bit more company. At least, for the first few days it was. After a while, Jack began to annoy me. Demanding I did the cooking and cleaning while he lazed around on the sofa watching the TV. I could have murdered him then and there, but I didn't. I knew it was wrong. But obviously that changes later on. Well Mark, Billys awake again, asking who I'm writing too. I don't think I'll tell him. Make a lie and say I'm writing to his Uncle. He says he's missing daddy. Wants to know when he's coming home. What do I say to that Mark? What did you say to your children when they asked where their mum was? Sorry, I know I said I wouldn't ask any questions, but what can I say, 'I'm sorry Billy. Your daddy isn't ever coming home. Your mummy went crazy one day and killed him'. Except I didn't. I still listen to your music you know. Billy aswell. He likes it. I like it too. But then when the fifth album ends after eight amazing tracks, I know what happened. I can imagine you stood there, hands covered in your friends' blood as the police fasten handcuffs around your wrists. You know, your album went number one again, I'm not sure if they told you or not. I need to get Billy to sleep again Mark. He has a big day tomorrow. He's starting his new school. I don't know what I'll do. Hide and think probably, like I do most days. I hope you're well. I don't hear much about you anymore. You were all over the news for the first five months aftee you did it. Anyway, I'll write to you whenever I write to you.
From
Anna.
