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The Letter of Oblivion

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I was about seven years of age and it was a dark, cold winter night and my father and I had just finished saying goodbye to our family members. It was Christmas Eve, and my Aunt and Uncle had just went home from visiting. A simple family ritual done every year on Christmas Eve as usual. Before I knew it, I had kicked off my winter boots and was in bed.

My mom and dad came into the room and spoke with soft words to tell me goodnight. I couldn't wait for Christmas, it was my most favorite holiday of the year; the presents, the family dinner, everything just seems so perfect when it's the holiday season. Well, at this point I couldn't go to bed thinking of Christmas and wondering what could possibly be under the tree. But inevitably my eyelids grew heavier and the light glow from the moon reflecting off of the snow was too soothing soon I was fast asleep.

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All of a sudden I was awake, thinking it was Christmas I was overjoyed to go open up presents, but I heard something odd, and my parents were usually up and making breakfast (I am a pretty heavy sleeper). I heard as though it was a mumbling sound, not a Oh-My-God-Its-A-Monster-Shit-Your-Pants sound, but just enough so that I could hear it. Added on to the strange noise I also heard big thumps for footsteps (we have wooden floors, so those of you who also do, know what im talking about) which was strange because even my father didn't make thumps THAT loud when he walked.

So the curious and care-free child that I was I went to investigate the noises. I checked upstairs, my parents' room, the bathrooms, everything; but found nothing. So the only two places left were the livingroom, and the kitchen.


When I stepped into the livingroom I had found the source of the mumbling: it was my mother and my father, tied up in a rope, with cloths around their mouths in front of the christmas tree and all of the presents. Suddenly I went to shock and my parents weren't ones to play pranks either. Being scared I rushed to the kitchen to fetch a knife to cut the rope, all of a sudden I heard a noise coming from the livingroom, it was the thumping again. I hurried back and there, next to my parents was a tall man in a black, sort of robe like thin cloth around him, it had a hood. He wore heavy, what seemed to be, steel-toed boots.

The most defining characteristic this mysterious man had was the mask he wore. The mask was black, it had a huge holes for the eyes, rimmed with metal. There was a long plastic looking string that was tied in a tight knot to keep the mask on. But the thing I remembered most was the horrifying black beak on the mask, it curving downward almost like a hellish bird from a nightmare, only this was real life. I was frozen, in shock standing there as the hell-bird stared blankly back to me, as though eating the very soul within my body.


I did nothing and seconds felt like total hours until finally the bird-man spoke in a very light, formal, yet wisplike voice also revealing that he was a man, whether it really WAS a man or not.

"I am the bringer of oblivion," he said.

"What do you plan on doing you bastard?" I replied.

He simply snickered, behind him I noticed he had a bag, he reached into the bag and pulled out a gasoline tank, and started dousing my parents with the gas. I went to attack him, but he punched my stomach and I fell to the ground, it felt like he also broke some of my ribs.

"Tsk tsk tsk, now lets not be that way, okay, I expected you would sit and behave like a good little boy."

He started covering the tree and presents with gas and then threw the tank down, it also spilling gasoline everywhere. He grabbed me by the shoulder and threw me by the front door.

"Merry Christmas," he said, dropping an enclosed envelope and a mask identical to his. He then took a big Zippo lighter and ignited it, he then threw the lighter to my parents, instantly engulfing them and everything in flames. He then jumped out of the window and ran into the dark woods behind our house. I watched as they were screaming in agony under the cloths and their skin started to melt away and char.

I went to help them but the house and everything was just so engulfed in flames. The last words I ever heard of my father was "Just run son, go and run as fast as you can," or at least that's what I could make out from him. I went to run out of the house, knowing sadly and contemplating on whether to leave or not. I reached for the door and and my foot stumbled upon something, it was the mask and the letter. For some reason I took that mask and letter.


When I finally got a chance to open up the letter my parents were long gone, all of my happiness crushed. The letter read as followed:

FROM THE BRINGER OF OBLIVION

"I knew you would keep this... Hello, if you are reading this then that means you are very lucky. I am the Bringer Of Oblivion, and this is your Letter Of Oblivion. With this letter was a mask I left with you as well. But more importantly I left you with something much more: anger. Hahahahahahah, don't cry, because it will do no good what-so-ever. I have left you with a task, and a new life you can choose to lead. Take this mask and keep these words in your head, because I know they will be burned into your memory. When you are older, or maybe even now, depending on when you are reading this, you can take this mask and do the deed I had done to your and your family to another. You can take the rage out of you, don't worry, it feels good, I know. Burn the house and leave a letter and a mask identical to these to the youngest of the household and burn the rest of them all. I know you can do this, I FEEL the fucking rage inside of you, it has consumed you, so release it. Do this my child, and spread Oblivion to where ever you may find it suitable."


At the time I had read this, I had stayed at a foster home for god knows how many years, but he was right about the rage, it controlled my body, and sometimes I think to myself what would happen had what had been done that night not have occurred. "But there is no fucking way I would become him," I thought to myself.

I am now eighteen years old, and the rage and the day and the letter are all still stuck inside of my mind.

It is all burned there, even as I am dropping this mask and this letter to the legs of a very lucky five-year-old little girl, who just happens to be the youngest of a family of four.

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