{The last entry could be read like an acrostic poem, with the first word of every paragraph forming the sentence: I am not afraid of death. This is not meant to mean anything significant, so don't have an existential crisis. It was just something fun for you guys. Don't be a silent reader.}
Dear Mom,
I'm gonna start off by saying I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
There, now that that's out of the way...
I get it. I honestly understand. I know you didn't want a kid. Hell, I wouldn't want one. I know I'm really difficult to get along with but... thanks for keeping me as long as you did. I'm honestly grateful.
I'm sorry I called you a slut. I was just upset. I know that love is... weird. It makes you do things you wouldn't normally do and it makes you do them without thinking. I know you loved Dad. I'm pretty sure I got my brains - or, lack thereof - from him because he was stupid to leave you just because I got in the way.
You should start dating again. I know you'll find someone great.
Maybe lose a couple pounds first.
Just kidding!
Five pounds, that's it.
This isn't your fault, by the way. I don't blame you and I don't want you to blame yourself.
A lot of things led up to this. Most of them honestly happened before I took that stupid joyride, which I'm really sorry I took. I'm sorry I stressed you out and embarrassed you.
I don't know what else to say...
I love you.
I'll miss you, if you can miss people when you die... I don't know if that's possible... I'll get back to you on that one.
I guess that's it, then...
This is a crappy letter, I'm sorry.
Love,
Travis
YOU ARE READING
The Narrator
Teen Fiction*Rated #1 by the author's mom* A teenager who journals? Unthinkable! Travis Bailiff is seventeen years old and still doesn't have a phone... He has an iPod, though. But it's not simply to listen to whatever rap song is popular these days. That's r...
