thewordswhsipers

Dear Emelia

By gk gaius,

Published on Sep 14, 2022   —   5 min read

fiction
Photo by Eva Blue / Unsplash

Another Wednesday together my dear friends. I hope this week is treating you well. Thank you as always for opening up the page to read the words of mine.

What you are about to read is a short piece I published a while back but deleted due to a break in life. I do hope you enjoy it.


He sits down, and writes the following.

If you are reading this letter, it must mean just one thing. You have found me dead.

My Dear Emelia, as I write this letter to be read after my death, I wish to tell you a story about the one time I gave the worst advice to someone. An advice which at the moment I said it, I considered the best advice. No one could have given a better advice than this, after all it worked for me. I was 21 at the time, and one day as I was walking. I saw in the distance, coming up the hill a guy in a black hoodie. He kept his head down, only God knew why at this point in time. We walked past each other and he did not raise his head up at all. I said Hi to him but he continued his walk, so after a few meters, I turned and walked towards him, touching him on his shoulder. In his eyes, Emelia, I saw blood, something I was not expecting to see at all. This young man looked about my age, maybe younger. He had dark skin, curly hair as he took his hood off to look at me, and beautiful but bloody brown eyes.

“Let’s get some coffee brother,” I remember saying. “I don’t have time,” He replied, but I convinved him to get coffee with me. We began to walk towards Caribou, a good 10 minute walk away from us. The whole time, I thought about his eyes. I’ve seen those eyes in the mirror, those were my eyes, I thought at the time, and those are my eyes now as I write this. We walk inside, and order our coffee, and walk right back outside with them and then he asked why I wanted to talk to him. Like I said, I’ve seen those eyes before so I told him so then he points to a place we could sit. He told me his story about his father physically abusing him since he was born. About his mother enduring it all because of him, because she loves him, and now that he is away from his father, he cannot understand or comprehend what he must do. He was told what to do by his father or else he won’t be able to go to school. He told of his father cheating on his mother and how he emotionally abuses her, and that he does nothing because legally he need his father to continue his education. Worst of it all, she doesn’t want him to do nothing. There was a time, he said, when he heard her cry because his father had hit her but does nothing because he was told to do nothing. Finally alone, away from him, living and going to school, he still can’t get past that life, and I remember him saying after looking into my eyes, “If those eyes are really telling me the truth, you must know that I’m tired. When I think of him, he makes me feel like shit and I feel like the best thing to do would be to die then she can finally leave him hopefully, maybe, I don't know. And looking towards the future, it scares me and I’m just really tired.”

The young man stopped talking and takes a sip of his coffee. “Thanks for the coffee,” he said and got up. I grabbed his hand, “Listen,” I said. He sat back down and listened to my words that said, “The way I see it, since you’re getting tired of life, the best thing you can do is," I pause and looked into his eyes. I wish there was anyway to get past this I thought and continued,"The best thing to do is to kill yourself!” The blood in his eyes I noticed began to flow down his cheeks, “If you are so tired of living, the best thing you must do is kill yourself. That’s the best advice I have but as I think about it all, if you are strong to kill yourself, you are strong enough to live so here is my advice. My advice is for you to go home, take a knife, hold it close to your neck, and begin slowly to cut your skin. If you can do this without shaking or peeing on yourself, stop and get your shit together. If you’re shaking and whimpering, then kill yourself! I learnt this early on.”

“Thanks,” He said and got up, this time without the coffee. He walked down to the sidewalk through the grass that separates the seat from it, and looked back at me, “Thanks for the coffee,” He said, smiling.

I stared at him as he walks away till I was unable to see him anymore. “What did I just tell him?” I thought. I looked up at the sky at the moment and screamed FUCK. I got up and begin to walk home as I noticed a few stares.

Emelia, that was the last time I saw the young man, God knows if he is still alive. I don’t know what came over me that day, I don’t know why I gave such advice, but I cannot think of anything good that could have happened to him. As I look back on my life, I have made wonderful mistakes, that was probably my worst besides killing my father.

I sit on the chair you bought me Emelia as I write this letter, and soon, I will hang myself above it. For you, Emelia, my beautiful Wife to read these letters, after you walk in to find me dead, I am sorry.

I talked about the young man above whom I haven’t seen since my advice to him. It’s been 3 years now and I wish I could have known what happened to him. As I write this, I continue to think more about him. I considered it then good advice because the world is not meant for those that are weak. I am weak in spirit now, and there is no one to help me, not even you but the man that would come for me eventually. Death. I’m finding him early because my soul wants peace from this world that constantly brings me sorrow. I know I shouldn’t have killed him. I knew that he would hunt me for the rest of my life, but I did because I was in pain. But now, I am in deeper pain so I seek death faster. My advice doesn’t work for me so before I go mad and torture you My love, I seek him. I seek death.

My dear Emelia, I love you. And I hope you can forgive me for this sin of mine.


Merci mes amis, till next Wednesday,
Deo Volente

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