Remember that time when you came to my house wearing a pale blue hoodie and black joggers, your dark hair hadn’t been touched or tampered with since you opened your eyes to a new day that gray morning. Remember that time when your intimidating yet soft brown irises stared right into mine; the varied shades of brown, constructing patterns; oceans and waves; ribbons and folded fabrics; blending and mixing together, creating something amazing. Art. An entire undiscovered universe. Nervous, I didn’t know whether to look away, or take the risk of losing myself in that universe. So you kissed me. Remember that? You probably don’t, because it never happened. I wish it did. If I ever have control over the world, I’ll make it happen, among many other things. I know why you hate me, I wasn’t born yesterday. But you don’t really have the right to hold any opinions on me. You heard I did this? You heard I did that? Oh no! I’ve been exposed! Guess I’ll have to go crawl in a hole and feel sorry for myself, like I’m supposed to. Piss off. Whether anything you heard is true or not, if it IS, honey, you don’t know the story behind it. You heard I killed my cousin? Guess what, he didn’t even die when I ‘murdered’ him. He’s still living and breathing at this very moment. He’s probably with his fat cat in his smelly apartment, watching some weight loss program on TV. OKAY? He’s doing just fine! And to be quite honest, he deserved even worse than he got.
You and I, see we’re supposed to be together. That’s how it was planned, since the beginning of time. I got some sort of message a long time ago. It has to happen, or everything will turn to shit! The building blocks will all come crashing down on us, everything will be completely wrong. We need to follow the plan, whether we want to or not.
If you end up reading this, I know how you’ll react. You’re probably going to try to get another restraining order on me, (which by the way, will not stop me, so why don’t you save yourself the trouble) and you’re going to bring up that time when I carved your name into my skin with merely my very own fingernails, and how I grabbed your arm so firmly in the hallway, your musk rubbing off of you and onto me, as I dragged you to the other side of the school. You were extremely willful and squirmy, it made everything so difficult! You caused me to fail my attempt at carving my name into your forearm, just as I had done to myself with yours. You were like a blank canvas, ready to be painted. We could be connected, forever attached by a bond that can never be broken. Unfortunately, my mission was unsuccessful, and it’s your fault :)
Missy is by far the most twisted girl I’ve ever met. I hate to admit it, but sometimes I find myself crawling out of my skin just thinking about her and everything she’s done. Her warm breath pounding down my neck as her hoarse voice whispers in my ear, speaking some of the most disturbing words I’ve ever heard escape from a person’s throat. Things you hear in the movies from former serial killers. I even got a restraining order on her a year ago, me being stupid enough to think that would keep her away. Waste of effort and money. She’s like a parasite. The weird thing is, even though I hate her, there’s a part of me that just wants to know what goes on in her head. What causes her to be the way she is? She was probably just born crazy. Does SHE know she’s crazy?
“Missy! Missy! You know you’re crazy, right?”
“Am I really crazy, or are you just brainwashed?”
“Stop talking to me,” yeah, it’d go something like that.
Maybe she went through some insane trauma as a kid- or maybe someone tried experimenting on her and failed. Maybe she was a cocaine baby? Nah. That’s ridiculous. But not impossible. Everyone at school calls her; “Maniacal Missy,” I mean, was that really the best they could come up with? I remember one rainy day, she somehow managed to sneak into the main office and got on the loudspeaker. It was kind of amusing, especially since you could hear our principal in the background grunting and struggling to keep her under control as she recited some disturbing content aloud to the entire school. She was suspended later that day, figures. Missy is the students source of entertainment. It’s pathetic if you think about it. Our lives are really that bland that we turn to observe someone else’s. Her life may not be boring, but it can’t be all fun and games.
Hello, good morning, how are you.
Hello, good morning, how are you.
Hello, good morning, how are you.
These are the phrases you will hear at your local shops, from your doctors, hairdressers, cashiers, people you’re meeting for the first time, almost anyone at one point or another. Human brains have been turned into scripts and influenced from the media. We have every response, every facial expression, every tone of voice built into our heads and split into categories of when to say this, or when to do that, all according to what or who we are responding to, and what they said or did, and of course, how they said or did it. It is an extremely confusing cycle. My one and only friend Fran, she died a few years ago, but still talks to me. She says I am a narcissist for my ideas and beliefs. I say “No! You’re just crazy!” but then I remember, I’m talking to a dead person. Anyways, how’s your home life going? Hmm? Tell me about it. Your cat died? Oh gosh I’m so sorry! Your grandmother is in the hospital? Oh, I’ll pray for her.
I awaken each morning joyful about the decreasing number of days before I get to feel your presence again. Although I am not looking forward to school, I have other things to be excited for. And I hope you know, you’re why I get out of bed every single day, you’re why I feel the sensation of the rough carpet scraping against the bottoms of my dry feet each morning as I make my way to the toilet. You’ve become my reason. Everyone has a reason. Sometimes, they never really understand what their reason is. But I’m one of the lucky ones. Because I know for a fact that you, you’re mine.
I have yet to make up my mind about whether I will ever give you this stack of letters. Maybe if you just take the time to read these you’ll want to be with me, and this is the only way I can really talk to you. I almost keep forgetting how much you hate me. But, do you really? Or, is it just an act? Hmm? I bet you have lovely nightmares about me, you just never told anybody. I bet you wake up to find your sheets clinging on to your sweaty skin. I bet as you’re reading this you have a confused expression on your face. Your eyebrows are joining in the middle of your forehead. Now, you begin to open your mouth. You shake your head in denial and decide to keep reading so you can get this over with. I know you hate to read. I wonder how long it will take before I’ve completely consumed you. I can only imagine the rush of adrenaline zooming around bouncing off the walls inside my body when I first spot your shadow. And that exquisite little scar that’s always looming right above your left eyebrow. I love that scar. I’ve always wanted to know how you got it. Tell me one day.
I shouldn’t be awake right now. It’s 4:35 am. In two hours my obnoxious alarm is going to start blasting into my ears, disrupting any sort of sleep or silence that I have left. Hopefully I’ll fall asleep while I’m writing this. I can feel my body overflowing with anxiety; I’m exhausted, but too restless. I really hope Missy doesn’t pull anything or cause any scenes tomorrow.
Tomorrow, tomorrow I will see you and hopefully give you all these letters. Don’t run away from me, much love,