I'm writing this so that I can keep a bit of sanity. This is my suicide note; it's the end for me. I just want this down so that others may see why death brings suffering, why you can't let one person die in your life...
My daughter got home from school at about 2 PM. Her being in a kindergarten class, they sent the little tykes home before the others. I thought that I could get in an hour or two into some TV movies. I finished at around 1:40, and exactly after I turned the television off, a ring came at the door.
I walked to the door and saw a little girl with her mother, selling girl scout cookies. I happily bought them and started to eat the Tagalongs (I gave the little girl a tip, when delivering cookies in the heat of Florida, you have to have a bit of decency). About 25 minutes later, my daughter got home.
"Hello daddy!" she said, throwing herself on me. I chuckled and got her some lunch.
It was definitely a normal day. Until that night....
At around 1:40 A.M., my daughter screamed bloody murder. I quickly jumped out of bed and ran to her room. I threw the door open, and saw my daughter huddled up in a little ball on the corner of her bed. I grabbed her quickly and turned the light on in her room.
What I saw was completely chilling. I saw, written in red paint on the wall: LUST, GLUTTONY, GREED, SLOTH, WRATH, ENVY AND PRIDE; SINS OF YOUR FOREFATHERS, SINS YOU CAN'T HIDE. What the Hell was that supposed to mean?! The seven sins?
My daughter started to hyperventilate, and she started saying "Daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy..." over and over again. I grabbed her asthma inhaler and tried to give it to her, but she was so far into an asthma attack that she really couldn't do much.
I ran to my car with her and placed her in the back seat, and drove as fast as I could to a nearby hospital. We were instantly admitted, and she was saved from going into cardiac arrest. It turned out that my daughter, at five, had heart disease.
It was about seven years later (and during those seven years) that things started to really get bad. It was Christmas time. I had a wife named Samantha, and a son named Gregory. My daughter, Haley, was 12 years old; Greg was about 4. I was loving my life. The kids were happy, Samantha and I were happy. It was great...except for the years previous...
The first year, all of the woman around me became aroused and flirted with me constantly. You wanna know why that was bad? Because every one that I rejected killed themselves in some horrid way. One gutted herself with a kitchen knife, and another hung herself from the gutter on her house.
The second year, my daughter became infatuated with food, so much that her heart condition worsened. She was rushed to the hospital over 10 times during the course of the year. But when the year was up, she became anorexic, and stopped eating much altogether.
The third year, my house went into foreclosure, and I became very stingy with money and food. We later found out that the landowner of our house still had rights to our land and was stealing money out of my credit card for two years. I'm lucky that I met Samantha, and she let my daughter and I move into her home. We married in December and had my son in October.
The fourth year, I was called by many talent agencies, asking about my amazing singing skills, which I had shown off when I sat in with a band a month before the year started. The thing is, when I said no, they would keep calling me and calling, until they became violent, calling me foul names. One of them even tried to kill me right outside my house. He shot at me with a handgun and clipped my ear.
The fifth year, I became inexplicably angry at my daughter and wife for everything. I became abusive in the month of December. But in that same month, I fell down the stairs and suffered brain damage, but so little damage that it gave me little memory of the year's past. I can only recall this because my daughter told me about it.
The sixth year, my daughter became jealous of my son getting all the attention. I tried to tell her that babies need more attention than ten year olds. She became angry and violent. She eventually ran away. I called the Center For Missing And Exploited Children. They found her in the abandoned house next to us, hiding in one of the closets. She was starving, and eventually kicked her anorexia.
It was the seventh year now, and nothing had really happened at all. That is until that night, at exactly 1:40 AM, that the shit hit the fan.
I heard my daughter scream, a bloodcurdling scream. I quickly ran to her room and saw something that broke my heart and terrified me. A man stood looking at her bed, holding a sleek knife. He grabbed her and...ripped her open with the blade. Oh God. It's hard to even think about it, but he took all that remained of her. Jesus Christ! I was so proud of her! My baby...
It's the eighth year now. My wife left me, my son barely knows me...and I curse myself every day. My late wife, who bore my daughter, I now know that it was you who gave me this curse. You always hated me. I couldn't save you. I never could, and you hate me for it. So now, I end it all...
Hello. This is Gregory, the boy in the story. I'm 36 now, and I was given this note from the police about a year ago. This suicide note was written by my father back in 1980. I was only five years old. When my mother got the news about my father, she cried for about an hour. I was alone, too, and it wasn't until ten years later that my mother gave me the real story.
She cried crocodile tears when she heard the news. The only emotion she harbored for my dad was hate. See, my father did all of those horrible things you see in the story. My father went insane at 1:40 AM in 1973, the date of his first wife and his anniversary. The psychologist he saw when his wife died had suspected that his wife's death was all his fault. He created an excuse, and based his so-called 'revenge' on the seven deadly sins.
The night of his wife's anniversary, he gave his daughter a shot of steroids, which gave her the heart condition.
He killed every woman who flirted with him for one year, making their deaths look like suicides.
The second year, he stuffed his daughter full of food, making her eat the largest portions. He became upset that it did not kill her, so he made her throw up her food after every meal when the year was up.
The third year, he sold his house, and let my mom use money from his credit card. He also became abusive for many years after.
The fourth year, he claimed that he was the most talented singer ever, calling talent agencies and such. When they turned him down, he would call them foul names, and he even tried to kill one man. He shot at the man right outside of his studio, clipping him in the ear.
The fifth year, he tried to kill my mom and late sister many times, but my mother retaliated, pushing him down the stairs. He had acquired short term memory loss and couldn't remember much about that month.
The sixth year, he drove my sister out of the house, calling her 'stupid bitch' or 'fucking whore'. She hid in the house next door when my father called a lost child agency. The forensics team quickly turned her back into our house, which my mother frequently called 'Hell'.
The seventh year, my dad was very tame. He became a very nice man, happy, and was proud of his behavior, until 1:40 A.M. On the night of his wife's anniversary, he killed my sister with a kitchen knife and fled with her remains to the Bahamas. I still cannot believe it to this very day, and at the beginning of the eighth year, he killed himself.
The police force says that it was suicide, he created a makeshift noose out of organic material.
They all lie, because I know the rope was my sister.