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How are you doing?
This might be a bit weird, but a mutual friend of ours suggested that I try this. You know, to exorcise any demons and what not.
But I guess what’s really ironic is that the two of us are involved. I’ve always hated writing letters, much preferring to let my head just go wild, and you’ve always preferred things on a computer for safer keeping.
But hey, life is tough, and then you die.
That’s enough of the pussy-footing I guess. I mean, of course there’s a reason for my writings.
The times between now and that little incident have been tough for me, and I know they’ve been tough for you. But I guess that’s only human.
Through that time though, I’ve always maintained the idea that I was wrong. That I was to blame. That every little thing that tripped us up were because of me.
And to an extent, I’d be right.
I let my emotions get the best of me.
I let anger rule my heart.
I scared the people away.
I scared your parents.
And it was all because I never learnt to control myself.
You know, it’s funny. I always tried to blame it on a crappy upbringing, what with my mother disappearing before I can remember and my dad being a drunkard but I guess I can’t ladle all of it onto them. There were other factors.
First of all, the type of people I decided to hang around with. The type of people who resented any type of authority regardless and would do as they pleased because they just felt like it. The type of people who felt like they would feel no repercussions. I’m sorry that I managed to get you dragged into all of that.
Secondly, you’ve got my unpredictability. I guess one day a quack’s going to come up to me and tell me that I’ve got Manic Depressive Disorder or something, and chances are I’d agree with them. The sudden swings in me scared people off. They thought, or should I say knew I was unstable. It was tough I guess. One moment I’d be king of the world, and the next some punk would come about trying to tip my of my throne and then they’d be eating dirt. It scared me, but I guess it all started improving once you came around. I was calmer. I was happier. I was at peace.
Then you’ve got my will to explore. I could never sit still, and despite knowing that it sort of entertained you, I know it was hard. The constant change of scenery. All the little unwanted surprises like spiders and lizards. Thanks for hanging through it all, though.
Finally you’ve got my little obsessions. In my defence they helped keep me concentrated. But it was the stuff like how your blue highlights just shone in the pale moonlight, how you always had one shoulder up and the other down. You know, the little stuff. It would’ve been hard. I mean, I’m not exactly subtle or anything. I’m loud, rambunctious, outgoing. But when came to you it was the slight things that made me fall for you. I can’t start to fathom how you would’ve got your head around that.
I guess there’s really a recurring pattern here. It all kind of falls on me it was my choices and the ways I decided to live that made these events unfold. And I’m sorry for that.
It’s weird though. Having all of this time between then and now, you can think a whole lot. And I think I can pinpoint the exact moment that things hit the fan.
We were walking, just by the beach. It was a calm Saturday night, one of the quietest we’d had in a while. We were just hanging out with friends, everyone knew everyone, and everyone liked everyone. It was a cool kinda feeling. For some reason we ended up in a part of town a bit removed from where we normally hang. I didn’t really want to spook anyone, but I knew about the goings in this area when it got dark. I figured we’d be pretty safe, we were in the middle of summer and it was barely half past six.
I was wrong.
I guess for some inexplicable reason they started to started their little functions a little early. I saw one of my old friends, Franky. You see we use to be pretty cool. We’d look after each other, fight for each other when it came to that. He cocked his head at me, and I noticed him and just awkwardly looked away. I knew he noticed me. I saw in my peripherals that his expression changed. He spat on the ground and went to talk off to another guy rather angrily.
I should’ve done something about that, but I didn’t. I guess I was too scared.
Too scared to go back to what once was.
Too scared to stick up for you guys.
Too scared to do the right thing.
Frustrations are hard to cope with. I couldn’t ever tell you the whole story, until now.
It was about two weeks after I saw him that things started to change for our little group.
I got a phone-call which I didn’t tell anyone about. It was Franky, just asking about how things were going. I knew he was holding out on something, so I managed to excuse myself before he dropped it. I know you sensed a change in my demeanor from there on out. And I know it worried you. I’m sorry that when you tried to ask about it, when you tried to help pull me through with it all that I snapped and said that nothing was wrong.
To be honest with you, I was paranoid. And rightfully so. I noticed them around more. I couldn’t directly recognise them, but I made the connection through their little brandings. Their piercings, the way their hair hung, the clothes they wore.
I had an uneasy feeling about it all, and I guess in the end I was right to have it.
I’m just ashamed that I didn’t do something about it sooner.
Yet still I held out on it all.
It took me a total of forty-three days, two hours and twenty-nine minutes for me to finally do something.
Yeah, I counted.
I strolled into their area, just as I had done so many times before. I was terrified of it all, yet it seemed so familiar, so natural to me. Hardly anything had changed, the music was still blasting its chords through the lanes, the streets were still littered with junk, the houses were still in the same dismal state and the sun still gave its eery glow to the area.
The only thing that could connect this place to human society was the trees, and that was for a good reason.
You see, the trees truly represented the area. They were a pride of the people.
They predated everyone there, and they’d grown strong and true. At some point it had become a unanimous decision that they would be respected and cared for.
I remember when I was about fifteen, a guy from outside of town decided he’d try and use the tree as his own little canvas. It was a mistake, and he soon had about twenty people beating on him. He was incredibly lucky to get out alive, or unlucky depending on how you look at it.
But hey, digression.
I spotted Franky rather quickly and kept pace until I met him out front of the old milk bar that we use to spend our time around.
The next few moments scared me.
I was straight up with him, I told him that I knew his boys were following me. I told him that there was a reason as to why I didn’t pay any attention to him that night. And I told him that I didn’t want anything to do with him, the area, or his people. I told him that I was done with it all.
And he just laughed.
I was scared, but as stubborn as ever I kept going shouting at him, demanding an answer and a resolve.
Coolly, he told me something to the effect of this:
“I don’t care. We don’t care. You’ve made your choices, and by doing so you’ve spat in our faces and upon the bark of our tree. I hope you enjoy yourself.”
I was frightened, so I ran. I felt his eyes bearing down upon me but I refused to look back.
It was pure cowardice on my part, and I wish I’d done things differently. I know things would’ve been different if I had.
What scared me the most out of it all was the waiting. I was impatient during the gap, purely because I was waiting for something to hit.
I should’ve just enjoyed the little I had while I could.
I’m sure we both remember plenty about that night. I know I do at least.
I remember that there was a storm brewing, and the smell it produced was so reinvigorating.
I remember the feel of each little droplet of water crash down upon us from above.
I remember the way you quivered after the first blast of thunder rang out.
And over all of it, I remember the sly smile you gave me after you stuck your head up after that bout of thunder.
It’s the little things like that which keep me sane.
When they finally arrived, I was scared more for you than me.
And I’m sorry for that.
I’m sorry that I let myself go mad like that.
I’m sorry that I let you see that side of me.
I’m sorry that that side of me exists.
Though, as I fought the off I felt nothing. I was numb. Although I knew at the end that I would be met with a feeling that is only understood by those who relish the feeling of activities like that. It’s called the rush. Basically everything catches up with you, it let you know that it was really all worth it. It takes your breath and feet away from you, but holds you up all the same. You feel as if you’re flying above everyone.
The fighting all came back to me so naturally, despite me not fighting for at least three years.
I was ready to block the first punch and I knew to twist it behind his back, kick out his knees and wrench it up highly and to elevate it while twisting it outwards; popping the shoulder.
I knew to cut the next attack short by slamming my foot into his knee and following it up with an upwards knee, sending his teeth into the back of his throat.
And finally, I knew to side step the knife swing and to throw him backwards; his head crashing into the rocks.
However, I didn’t know what to do as you stared at the three bodies at my feet ,with such a blank and pale face.
I’m sorry that I didn’t follow after you and try to explain as you ran off.
I felt terrible, and rightfully so.
I let things go spiraling. I couldn’t function properly without you. My grades dropped by fifteen percent overall. I got dropped from the hockey team because I kept messing up the simple stuff.
And it was purely because I’d became so infatuated with those small things. They had become my last line of defence between sanity and lunacy, and now that they were gone? The madness was threatening to swallow me whole.
I wish I could blame that lingering insanity as the sole reason as to why I went to your house, begging to see you.
But I still don’t know.
I approached your house shaken and unsure of my every step like the first time I ever took you out, unsure of what words to say to those I met.
As I knocked on your door, hoping that you’d let me in I looked around at where I was, caught between a breath. I admired the flowers you had growing, I admired the Gothic fence your parents had up, and I admired the slow pulse of the music you had playing in your room.
I was soon greeted by the displeased face of your brother, and despite my strained efforts, I couldn’t get through to him. I still don’t know why I couldn’t get through to him; he was always smart and thoughtful.
I became more distressed as his anger levels rose, before it came to the point at which your brother struck me squarely in the mouth, knocking me from your porch.
I could’ve blocked that punch.
I could’ve hurt your brother badly.
I could’ve forced my way in.
But I didn’t deserve to be in your presence at that time. And I deserved that blow.
If you get the chance, thank him for that.
And I still don’t. I don’t think I ever will, and I don’t think I ever did.
I guess we just grew apart a bit too quickly. We never spoke a word to one another, and that made me sad.
To see so much just vanish hurt me.
To know that I’d never receive your cute little IM’s at two in the morning, or be spammed with your pokes, hurt me.
To know that you wouldn’t be there to slap me over the back of the head whenever I said something, or to be the first person on field to congratulate me after a good win, hurt me.
And to know that whenever I needed someone, that you would never be that person and that I could never be that person for you, hurt me.
But I guess that that was how it’s supposed to be.
I went to a party the other night, it was pretty sweet. I felt happy. It was a numb kind of happy, but it felt good all the same.
>But I just know that something was missing.
In the end, I guess writing this all out has helped me to an extent. But it pains me to know that you will never actually read this. I guess that’s the real, morbid irony behind all of this.
Sleep tight Autumn, these leaves will be reborn soon.