|A Letter Of Denial
Author: Octopus123 PM
Hey, Ben. How's it going? It's going horribly, isn't it? I would suspect so, since you're… well…dead.Rated: Fiction K - English - Tragedy/Hurt/Comfort - Words: 766 - Reviews: 2 - Published: 03-11-12 - Status: Complete - id: 3004220
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
I like loose ends. I like them because that's what happens in life. Sometimes you just don't get all the answers that you want, and you're left wondering, for the rest of your existence, what happened? So I think this is why I wrote this; it's full of loose ends. So here's a warning, before you start reading: By the end of this, you're probably going to ask yourself why you even bothered reading.
Hey, Ben. How's it going? It's weird to ask that, since…well, first, you can't answer me back, and secondly, I don't think I've had to ask you that, ever. We were always together, you and me. Two peas in a pod, as they say. I also already know how it's going for you. It's going horribly, isn't it? I would suspect so, since you're… well…dead.
I hope that doesn't offend you. I certainly hope you know that you're dead, because if not, then I certainly didn't want to be the one to tell you first. I know you wouldn't want me to tell you, too. You were always the type to want to stay in denial. Then again, so am I.
But denial isn't a good trait, is it? It can't be, if it's the reason you're dead. So does that mean I'm next? Will denial kill me too? I think that's why I couldn't deny your death. Because then it would just be what you did, wouldn't it? Then three people would be dead, and that sucks. Doesn't it? You shouldn't have done it…deny everything that happened. You should have talked about it. That's what you're supposed to do when stuff like that happens, right? You talk about it, then cry, and then eventually, you move on.
That's what I'm doing right now, in fact. But since your gone, you selfish ass, I've got no one to talk to about it, do I? I can't talk to my mom or dad, can I? You made me promise not to. Not to talk to anyone except your parents.
But that's why I'm writing in this, isn't it? So that I can talk to you about it. You don't have to answer…I know you wont.
God, I hate you for dying. I really do. I can't believe you would do this. Why couldn't you have tried harder? Why couldn't you realize that there were more people in the world then just him? Other people that loved you? Cared about you? Was it that hard to see? For god sake, Ben, had I ever given you the impression that there wasn't at least one person besides him that loved you? I've always been there, from the very start. Before and after all this happened. So why are you not here for me too?
You can't answer me, can you? And it's not just because your dead, but its because your also afraid. You were always afraid. That's what bred your denial. Afraid of the truth. Afraid that it could strike you down; hurt you.
But guess what? It did, anyway. The truth went right past your denial, and fear, and pushed you through that windshield and onto that road. Truth cut you up with that glass, mangled your body and broke all your bones.
I'm afraid too, Ben. But I'm a coward, and that's a trait you didn't have. You were the brave one. The one who held up all your pain and grief, not just so you didn't have to feel it, but to help them get over it too.
You asked me to tell them, Ben, but I can't do it. I'm really not as brave as you. I'm sorry. I really am. Sorrier then I've ever been before. But I can't. It's better this way anyway. Your parents have enough to deal with, right? And who am I, to tell them that they never knew who their own son was?
I can't do it. I just can't.
I'm so sorry. I'm sorry your not here for me, and I'm sorry I cant be there for you when your gone.
I hope it's sunny, wherever you are. I love you, Ben.