SALEM, OREGON.
1990
dear god,
i am truly sorry for the words that i am about to write. it is very tragic, you see, i did love phil lester. phil lester was my ephemeral crush. i would like to say that he was eternal (i wish i loved him forever, until this shit world rot and crumbled beneath our toes) but unfortunately, phil lester is dead. oh dear god, what should i do? you said that all sins and blasphemes will be forgiven for the sons of men. so god, i am here to confess. i would like my sins to be repented. but, is murder an eternal sin? i hope not, truly, or else i'm bound to the pits of hell for eternity...
dear god,
please forgive me
for murdering phil lester.
sincerely,
daniel j. howell.
-
it all started with the first day daniel howell was born. oh, the poor child was bound to be a sinner from the beginning of his time. his mother, lacy, was an alcoholic. she drank anything she could get her pretty hands on, and since the day daniel howell was born, he watched his mother drink herself to death on cheap vodka. his father was never in the picture, and his mother said that he had left once he found out she was pregnant. a coward, dan liked to call him.
"this life wasn't made for people like us, daniel," his mother would say as she blew cigarette smoke out from her cherry red lips. she would flick the ashes off the cigarette bud and dan would watch as her pink coated nails shimmered in the moonlight. the critters of the night would whistle and howl at the night sky, and the sounds of the frogs and crickets would continue until the sun rose in the morning.
"why not, mama?" little dan would ask, entrances by his mothers hazel eyes and the way they shone in the moonlight.
she would take another drag of her cigarette and ponder over life in the moonlight for another second, before she let out an exhausted laugh and turned to her son.
"because, we're sinners, daniel."
and ever since that night, little daniel realized that he should live up to his name.
