CHAPTER 1

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To whosoever finds this letter:

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I’ll probably be dead by the time you get your hands on this, unless something went very, very wrong, and my plan failed. I won’t bother explaining myself. You filth do not deserve to know why I did what I did. I will say this. I have no regrets. And I feel no shame about the chaos I will soon unleash. You deserve nothing less.

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I never imagined that it would come to this. But you left me no choice. I never had much in life, but the little I had you took from me. Not at once, but bit by bit, one painfully miserable day at a time. None of you cared about me, and ironically, all of you will soon end up wondering why I cared so little about you, or your lives. After all, sympathy is hard to come by when you get none from most throughout your life.

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There are two people, just two, who actually gave a shit about me. One of them left me a long time ago. And one of them will live on in the aftermath of the destruction I cause. They are the reason it didn’t get to this sooner. They are the only reason I held on for so long. But I can’t anymore. The dam has broken, and my rage can no longer be contained. I will have my vengeance. And you will all pay what you owe me.

 

Tell my mother that I love her. And tell her that none of this is her fault. I know that she did her best. I know that she tried. It’s not her fault that she’s never understood me. Tell her that I know what this will do to her, and I am sorry. I tried to keep the hatred at bay, but in the end, I succumbed, and it washed over me and gave birth to a fury like no other.

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Tell my father that he is a piece of excrement that deserves all the pain in the world. Let that flaccid sack of garbage know that I could have ended him at any point over the last few years, but I chose not to, because death, for a shit-stain like him, would’ve been a mercy. I want him to suffer. I want him to be ostracized from the hypocrisy you filth call a society because of what I am about to do today. I want him to feel shame because of me. I want him to be punished for my sins. A large part of everything that happens henceforth is his fault. And therefore, it is only fair that he carry a large part of the burden. I also want him to feel fear. I want him to know that there were countless nights when I stood by him, pointing a gun to his forehead while he slept, with my finger on the trigger. I didn’t pull it, but I could have, had I wanted to end him quickly. I want him to know this. I want him to feel everything it entails. I want him to realize, deeply and completely, that whatever life he has left is because I allowed it.

 

Whatever little I have should be given to my mother, and she may do with it what she will. I have no use for any of it anymore. As for all of you, you may do what you want with whatever of me is left behind. Label me, curse me, worship me or adulate me. I don’t, and more importantly, won’t, care. I will be dead, and I will have taken enough of you with me. I cannot think of a more fitting end to my pitiful story.

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I am not a monster. Your world made me one.

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I hate all of you. Except for you, Mom. I love you. Thank you for everything. I hope we meet again… in whatever lies beyond this filthy existence.

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