My newly slit arms dripped crimson liquid onto my page, the stark white contrasting deeply to the beads of blood. I lightly write a note confessing my love. My smile slowly takes up my whole face, my mind and body ready for death.
It's funny isn't it? How the cuts look so wrong but just feel so right. It makes me wonder, why isn't everyone doing it. So many possibilities of death, but I want me to smile when my wrists get cut. That's the reason why, readers, I am writing a note, of my blood and soul, to confess my love of her and my giddy excitement over my death.
It read so far-
Hello, Darling.
I remembered you stepping through the school doors, hair whipping in the wind like an untamed beast. That scared yet serene look on your face, I would give anything to see it again. Now, if you're wondering why this letter would possibly be delivered at 12:01 AM, it's because, short and simple, I'm going to die.
Slamming my head against the wall, I groaned, that isn't a good pick up line.
Now the I'm going to die, is now I'm going to die for you.
Finishing it off with my signature smiley emoji, and signing my name underneath, I head off to 60 Privatt Drive and slipped it under the door, exactly when the clock finished it's oblivious strikes of midnight. And as graciously as I came, I slipped away.
Which is not at all.
I stumbled unreluctantly into the forest, the stars splattered across the endless sky, and trees swaying in the winds. The perfect place to die.
I took my trusty tool, an old, used dagger, and slit my wrists. I sat down with my head fuzzy and closed my eyes, envisioning the one girl I lost my cool for, the one girl who would make boys and girls alike drop on their knees. The one girl who I'm taking my life for.
And I took my last breath.
YOU ARE READING
Love Letter
Short StoryIn an abandoned old house, a pale woman dropped a ripped page. She left in a hurry and was never seen again. The next morning a small child set out for the news and picked up the leaflet, closing the door and setting off for her sister, whom it was...