And I believe, this may call for a proper introduction, and well, Don't you see, I'm the narrator and this is just the prologue.
-"The Only Difference Between Suicide and Martyrdom is Press Coverage", Panic! at the Disco.
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I heard not my own voice in my head, nor the other voice that speaks me thoughts to me, as I read. I heard the words scrawled on the paper come alive and natural through the voice of my father. It was strange, though I could not remember many details, including the exact picture of his face, I could always remember my father's voice. The letter began formally,
Dear those of you who can still love me,
I love you. I need you to understand this. I loved you from the day I met you to the day I die, which is pretty soon, actually. I'm going to go ahead and say that I still love you, in whatever sort of afterlife we have waiting for us. I'll love you here, after death, be it in heaven or hell or purgatory or whatever. I don't care, I love you. So now that that's out of the way...
I'm sorry. I am not courageous or heroic or anything that I am proud of. I have kept many things from you, assuming you are my family and friends who are not working with me as of this moment. Secrets I planned to take to the grave are going to stay after me because I believe that you deserve to know, not because I want you to know.
I have been distributing illegal substances, to put it officially, for about three years now. The people I 'work' with are not happy with me, as I may or may not have accidentally misplaced a few million dollars. Maybe. I guess we'll never know. But chances are, if I don't kill myself, they'll get it done just fine. This is my fault, and I don't want to drag any of you into it.
I only did this because I loved you, please understand. I was fired from job at the office, and I had absolutely no way to support my family. My wife did so much to try to help, but it didn't work. Annalise, darling, you did all you could, but the money wasn't enough, I had to find some way to help you. With a lost job and a child to care for, I had not a lot of options.
So I drew on my past experiences of marijuana usage, and I knew it would make me enough, if not more, money to support you. And, needless to say, it was a lot more than I bargained for. Oops, but it's done now. If you really need to know more about it, my friend Jason knows quite a bit, and he could explain it to you.
So, there a three ways this could go. Suicide, murder, or complete and utter identity change for myself. I'm not sure which I will choose.
There's not much more to say. I love you. I'm sorry. Goodbye.
I think, perhaps, the best part of the letter would have to be the fact that it was signed with,
You know who I am.
This part was my favorite sentence, because it clung to my thoughts, and it was kind of darkly, morbidly, humorous. It loved and hated it at the same time, because I could not help to see, "You know who I am..." , and the only thought my empty shell of a human being could find was the lingering response of,
"Do I?"
ns 15.158.61.7da2
