A/N: I moved this from my fiction account. Its a oneshot I wrote for school about a month ago, and I really liked it, so here we go! I hope YOU like it :D

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A Letter For My Life

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White.

Nothing more than a blank, white, folded up sheet of paper. I couldn’t get my head around it. The fact that such a small simple thing could cause so much pain. The white drew me in, bright and strong, the paper worn with the repetitive fingering.

The rain bucketed down on the roof, the morbid sound fitted so perfectly with my mood. The rain had been falling for months, just as long as my emotion had become no more than a miserable torrent of pain.

I clutched to the dog-eared envelope in my trembling fingers. I was lucky that it didn’t slip straight between them and onto the floor. If it had then it could have become lost so easily, there was too much mess. So much mess. I suddenly noticed that I hadn’t bothered to look after the house for a very long time

Just that one empty envelope.

My heart managed to sink a little further down in my chest each time my eyes fell into place on it. The once crisp folds, the once sterile white lines. It had changed; it’s meaning had changed. Now – for another time – I was losing hope again. All due to what I hadn’t done.

I felt the tears ball up at the corners of my eyes. One lonely tear snuck along the edge of my lashes, before it slid directly to the floor. Why was I crying? I needed to build a bridge. I needed to get over it. Pathetic, it was a great word to describe just what I was.

I quickly gulped back more of the dirty tears that were threatening to spill to the world. But of course there was no one to see them, I didn’t know who I was trying to hide them from. I was kneeling here purely alone. There was no one to watch how my hands gripped the coffee table with the agony that was happening inside.

I breathed in heavily a few times, regaining the control that I had lost. There’s no point in crying… I told myself, the envelope accidentally pushed away. I was sure that it was more than a coincidence. I was sure that it had edged away; in the infamous way we all do when we realise we’re sitting in a place where nobody wants us. I was sure by now that the envelope had a life of its own.

But of course that leering stampless envelope wasn’t the only item to cause all this pain. There sat the equally as blank slip of lined paper, and the waiting pen. For days they had watched at me without eyes, a taunt, a dare. I felt as if they knew I had never been confident enough to do it. Like they knew all along.

Its over, there’s nothing that you, or anyone can do…

The voice in the back of my head was right. There was nothing left to do. I knew that the envelope had no purpose now. That it was no more than a memory of regret for me to clutch to through it all, it was just something to tie myself to him with. A very small something. One that would have done far more if I had the strength to use it.

Pathetic and weak, now I had two words to describe my faults.

I rose to my feet, trying to maintain my balance on numb unstable legs. I wished my heart were numb too. That way everything would mean nothing. That would be bearable.

I opened my eyes; somehow I had ended up in front of the bathroom mirror. What stared back were the steel gray eyes shadowed by deadly black bags. Hair falling in messy tangles around my pale white face. It was as if someone had stolen all the colour from my features, leaching me into lifeless monotones.

I'm sure that my cheeks used to be rosy, my hair used to have a coppery tint, and that my eyes held more than the hospital bar gray, coated in the nasty grime of my life.

I hated situations like this. Times when I had no control of what was to come. That’s why I couldn’t simply pull the trigger, make the leap, or swallow the pills. That was why I had to continue marching on in this pointlessness. Because I was afraid of having it out of my control.

Every second of my life was now filled with regret. What was ever going through my mind? What was ever my reasoning for not sending it? Nothing, not anything other than pride, and the fact that I thought I was a solitary person.

But sometimes lives hang in the balance with the reply of something as simple as a letter. I wasn’t even sure why we sent one another hand written letters, delivered in the post, maybe it was the dramatics of it all, the kind of thing that we both liked.

Ding-dong.

I could have sworn that the doorbell had fallen into a minor melody, rather than the upbeat happy sound that filled normal houses. It could have just been my ears deceiving me, but the noise sounded a whole lot more like a funeral march than ever.

Ding-dong.

I turned away from the mirror, making my way down the stairs. Each one wailed its own protest as I stepped on it. My feet creating pathways in the dust.

Ding-dong.

This person definitely had patience issues; it wasn’t taking me that long to get to the front door. I couldn’t work out why someone could be so frantic to speak to me.

I opened the door on another familiar face.

“Sienna, I…”

I silenced her with a slight wave of a hand. She was just another person that wouldn’t understand. What was the point in explaining? No one ever got it did they? Never got the fact that I didn’t want to speak to them.

I painted on a fake smile that I knew she wouldn’t bother to look behind. The mask that was too hard to peel away. I closed the door on her, I didn’t need anyone’s company, especially because they could never empathise, there had been one person, the one person that did understand, but I took them for granted. And now they had left me. The sayings all too true, you never know what you have until its gone.

I fell back into place at the coffee table, grabbing the empty envelope, and the blank paper in one hand. In the other I reached further to pick up the tear stained, ink filled piece, and the stamped, addressed envelope.

I flung the door open, breaking into a run, away from the girl that had come so that she could pretend to care about me. Straight into the curtains of engulfing rain. The gloominess of it all brought me into reality. In reality, things happened for a reason.

I ran without a purpose, or an aim, just plainly wanting to get away from anywhere that could possibly hold memories. The four slips of paper in my pocket seemed to weigh my left side down.

My hand reached deep into my pocket, pulling out the slip of word filled paper. The edges were slightly soggy from the rain and the tears, but it only made it all the easier to tear the emotion filled note into tiny bits. I scattered them as I continued to walk through the drizzle.

The letter he had sent, knowing that there couldn’t be a reply.

There's no one to reply to, not when it’s a suicide letter.

Because some people find those kind of decisions far too easy, the selfish idiotic fools.

I was finally done. Standing in the middle of this dripping, isolated park, surrounded in the scattered remains of his final letter. Each piece that lay around me signifying a tear that I had shed. So now I was dry, I was okay. And most importantly I was alive.

I looked up; somehow there was sunlight streaming from between a break in the purple and black clouds. Who would have thought that months of relentless rain could finish at such a perfect time? It seemed like something bigger than a coincidence. As if letting go was all that it was going to take to end the depression.

The end of a depression that had only begun because of one unsent letter.

I pulled out the tattered envelope; tear speckled paper, and the bright red vivid. His address scrawled out on that meaningless paper that had once been a taunt. Not anymore, now the blankness was erased. My weakness erased. Writing was slashed across the paper with so little effort. With a slight smile I slipped the final note away for good, sealing it with old tears, rather than saliva.

I walked until I found a postbox, remembering the vivid red words that were sprawled on that once white sheet, knowing that I was being childish, but relishing in the thought all the same. The time of pretend smiles, masks of contentment, and crying until my eyes were raw, over.

I miss you, but its too late now… I'm going to get on with my life… I’d say for you to do the same, except it’s far too late for that… I’d like to inform you that the life you left is one of those precious things… Something that I still have, but you’ll never get back…

A completely pointless letter.

The message written to someone that was no longer alive to uncover the lesson his death had caused me to learn.

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