Dear Fuckboi: A TomTord Satire

finality

Christmas Eve.

Tom didn't celebrate Christmas, so he couldn't give less of a shit about it. He didn't mind, though, even when he was little and heard about other kids getting presents. Tom wasn't big on material things. He was raised to appreciate what he had in the now.

He greeted his dad after coming inside the warm house. It smelled like a bakery inside. His mother must be baking cookies. She always did that around the traditional Christian holidays. It was a welcome treat.

There was a letter on his desk when he entered his room. Tom's dad must have left it there for him. Upon inspection, it was written in Tord's chicken scratch handwriting. Great, Tom thought, another insulting letter. And I really thought I got through to him.

Tom swiped the envelope off his desk and into the trash can. As he was kneeling down to retrieve something from the depths of beneath his bed, he rested his forehead against the mattress and sighed. Curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he took the letter from the can and ripped it open.

Tom was surprised by the letter. He read it once, twice, three times, just to let it soak in.

Tom,

I know what you're thinking. Oh, he's sending this to mock me again, how awful! But I can assure you that's not the case. So I'm going to do something that'll change the lives of the few people I've met.

It's something I should've done a long time ago. My life has always been empty, so I believe this to be the only route I can take to make things right. Everything will be okay soon.

And, uh, you go and do your thing. Without me.

See ya,

Tord

Tom bit his tongue. The words were cryptic, but he didn't worry. Tord was no longer a part of his life that he had to be concerned about. He crumpled the paper and put in his earbuds, ready to indulge in some loud ska music. His favorite.

It was so loud, in fact, that he didn't hear the coincidental report on the television.

"Local teen drowns self in waterfall at Starbank Forest."