Wickedly Twisted

The Coward's Letter

To you who’s reading this crap,

To start with, let me just remind you that this is not your ordinary letter.

You may be wondering why a letter has been in this crazy book entitled, ‘How to Get Yourself Killed’ for I don’t know how long. Perhaps, days, weeks, months, years, decades, I really don’t know. If you can still read this, maybe, the ones who have read this are good enough not to throw this piece of junk away. Or maybe, no one is stupid enough to read this book, and that’s way much better.

By the way, can I ask you a favor? I’ll gladly thank you (if I can), if you won’t throw this, nor put a mark, or tear this apart. Hey, I know, you’re shaking your head for reading such a non-sense letter. Actually, I really don’t care. But if you’re still reading this and you’re getting bored, please, put this letter back to its rightful place.

Probably, you’re one of those who’s planning to get themselves killed that’s why you’re reading this oh-so-dumb book. Actually, I’m really wondering why our university has ever acquired such book that implies encouragement of death among their students.

But whatever your problem is, and the reason why you want yourself dead by any minute now, the bottom line here is this: I am just like you.

My name is a big irony to my personality. You see, I’m a coward. Well, everyone is a coward. But I’m just more severe. People did that to me, or maybe, I did it to myself. I don’t know.

ou might ask, what am I saying? Well, I don’t know either. I’m writing this because it’s my only avenue, for I can’t speak my mind, no one can hear me out. Nobody can hear a mute, that’s why. Oh, I know, you’re laughing at me. Yes, yes, I’m mute. I can’t speak. But good news, I can hear everyone. Which apparently is a bad news too. Why? Let me tell you my story.

You see, I grow up distancing myself to people. I’m that kid seating in the corner, head’s bowed down from morning until the afternoon for I don’t know how I will ever talk to people. My parents enrolled me to a regular school, they didn’t bother to put me in a special school where special people (are we really special?) like me can go, learn, and interact with the people who has the same problem with ours. The reason behind is that they believe that I’ll do fine, for I can hear and I’m just a mute. They believe that I can write my thoughts on my handy-dandy notebook. Unfortunately, they are wrong.

If I don’t have that little notebook, will they ever know my thoughts? Will they ever understand me? No. What if I lost it, what now? Or what if the people around me don’t even take time to read it? My parents haven’t thought about that, or maybe, they really never cared.

So that’s how it goes. I distanced myself to people, and no one bothers to talk to me either. Actually, that’s okay with me, I’m used to it. Because even at home, no one bothers to talk to me.

But apart from that fact, I can hear what they say, and it’s not good. I’m mute but I’m not deaf. How I wish, I’m deaf too, so that I don’t get to hear their words. Because hearing them devastates me. Every words they say are like daggers finding its way to hurt me. And as much as I wanted to stop them from breaking me, those words are just too powerful that it ruins my disposition and led me to where I am now. Here in this darkness called depression.

Stupid. Dumb. Pain in the ass. Fool. Retarded. Dupe. Sucker. Loser. I wonder how others will react to that if they’ll deal with those words every day. As for me, I keep quiet, that’s expected of me being a mute. But they don’t know how it tear me down inside, and I guess, they will never understand.