Count Cain Fan Fiction / Godchild Fan Fiction ❯ Letters From Nowhere ❯ So it Begins ( Chapter 2 )

Disclaimer:Standard disclaimer applies. See Chapter One. Thank you.

 

 

It had started out simple enough.

 

Misplacing something wasn't unheard of in her home, but it was inconvenient just the same.

 

Especially if said item was one of your favorite graphic novels.

 

That's what happened to her that particular afternoon and she had just barely bought it too. She often misplaced stuff and found it again in the oddest places. Once she had found her iPod in the fridge wedged in-between the butter and a six-pack of Cherry Pepsi. Another time it was the VCR remote in the dryer, or her all-time favorite the car keys in the jewelry box. It wasn't her fault really, truth be told she just got distracted easily. She just did so much at once it was rare that she afforded herself a treat such as that. Especially with her new jobless status, it was again actually could afford it, barely.

 

Fortunately though, it was located rather quickly, safe and sound in the main drawer of her new desk. It was Volume One of Godchild; she'd heard many things about it. Even read a few of the assorted chapters in her favorite import magazines. Usually she stayed away from the angst, but the artwork was to die for.

 

Plus, the guys, even the evil ones, were just too cute!!!

 

But that wasn't the strange part; rather she found a piece of paper. It wasn't that in itself wasn't unusual, after all where else would one find writing paper but in a writing desk. It was neatly folded in half on top of her book. As if it had always been there, and she was absolutely sure it wasn't when the book was put in the drawer for safekeeping. The writing table flipped up to lock the drawer securely away. Unless a sick over one-hundred-something somebody was sneaking in for the sole purpose of leaving scrap paper, she had the only key in existence. That sane, rational little voice which everyone has, told her to throw it in the wastebasket and be done with it.

 

So, she did the opposite.

 

Pulling up the old kitchen chair which was the only one in the house that even closely fit the diminutive stature of the desk. She carefully opened it to reveal a very neat, precise hand. But the contents of the letter shocked her. For it read...

 

To whom it may concern,

 

I say this with the utmost conviction, I am so tired. Tired of everything that the horror of my cursed existence has bought me. The terror of my birthright has caused nothing but sorrow from the moment of my conception. From my mother's insanity, to my father's incessant attempts to turn my end into an elaborate game. The wealth and privilege left to me has bought me nothing but loneliness in a gilded cage as those I love die about me. Please don't think ill of me whosoever reads these last lines, know that I do this to protect you all. That is my final gift to you. My most faithful friend, my beloved little sister take care of each other. Take heart that I will watch over you from a better place secure in the knowledge that you are truly safe.

 

C

 

 

She was stunned to say the least, it wasn't everyday one stumbles across a suicide note, especially so elegantly written. But needless to say, something about it just tweaked at her the wrong way. It bothered her all the rest of the afternoon, even seeping into her dreams that night. So much so that she awoke with dark circles the next day. She understood what it meant to have an ultra crappy life; it might have been different on a hundred levels. But the fundamentals were basically the same.

 

Every life was a precious work of art, a divine gift, to be cherished with utmost reverence. To throw it away was in her opinion showed nothing short of pure cowardice. Oh, she had had many a time when she could have spat in the face of God and said, "Chuck it!" So many good future experiences would have been lost in the process too.

 

At that point she didn't care that this person might have lived, over a century ago. Or that responding to a letter that nobody was ever going to get was probably pure insanity, she just had to do something. If only to put her own mind at ease she began her own letter...

 

 

Don't flatter yourdself!!! Gift, please??! Don't make me laugh. You obviously don't think but anybody but yourself. You take the fool's way out!!! The simplest lessons are the hardest to understand and I had to learn this the hard way.” The circumstances of one's birth are irrelevant; it is what one chooses to do with the precious gift of life that determines who they are." Anyone who listens to the harping of others long enough will start believing it themselves. Which is obviously what you've done, but I won't pity or feel sorry for you. You're doing a well enough job wallowing in that yourself. Your parent's choices are theirs alone, sewn and reaped; you have nothing to do with them. Any dimwit can take a knife to their throat; it takes real strength to live. You do it and your father wins without trying, you've already done his work for him. Think about that.

 

 

It might not have been the greatest rendition of all time. And she doubted anyone in their right mind would be intimidated by pink notebook paper. Still, it made her feel better all the same; folding it up with the note she replaced into the drawer, locked it back up and went about her business.

 

Still, it floored her when she received, the response.......