A Stranger's Letter

What would you do if you found this in a blank booklet?

February 6, 2013

 

Dear diary,

 

Together we have shared many memorable and less memorable days, but memories all the same. There was hate at first, seeded in my heart. There it grew slowly, not by light but by the darkness of my mind. I became quiet, distant and indifferent. So I wrote, my hands would speak where my tongue lost all taste of speech. I found you; unopened, unspoiled, ready to be written. I stained the peaceful emptiness with the blood of my history. Humiliation, mutilation, sacrifice all coloured the contents of these pages. But there was always hope, however fickle and feeble, it would withstand each blow struck. The cruel words of my dear classmates would cut me open like a butcher's knife. I would cry and sob openly, like a squealing pig bleeding to death. Each teardrop would drain my hatred, to replace it with fear. But there was always hope. When I ran home naked from gym, being robbed of my clothes, hope embraced me as a cloak. When they threw rocks through my bedroom's window, hope hadn't broken down. When they forced me to drink from the toilet, hope didn't drown. I awoke, suffered, wrote and slept, I lived. Time elapsed, fear turned to custom, custom to behavior. A behavior in which I would remain in the background, rarely speak, rarely show any sign of human activity. And then there is today. This day, dear diary, they have taken you from me. They rushed through my personal possessions and stumbled upon your precious contents. Forced me to read all the shared memories, just before they lit a torch and finished you in a small inferno. They could have stolen my money, my books, my clothes, my humility, but never you. For with you, they stole my hope. My every reason to survive. So I write this last letter with the last gust of hope that guides my hand across the paper. Farewell, dear friend.

 

To whoever finds this last note of a lonely boy, whoever reads with an objective eye, may you find hope where others leave it. Share your memories, so we may both share our hope.

 

~Fictionborn

Author's Note

I thank you for reading.

Reviews

[Mockingbird]

it's sad that the boy's only refuge has been destroyed. that event could have pushed this fragile soul off the edge. this was a clever form for a short story. it feels like i am invading his privacy in a way by reading something so personal even if it is addressed to anyone. great job.

[Fictionborn]

I am glad to hear you can identify with the boy's situation. Thank you for the kind words.

[Craig2591]

Very poignant. I have never owned a diary, but I can understand how such a thing could become a 'friend' to a lonely person. A confidante so to speak. And very traumatic to have it destroyed.

[Fictionborn]

Thank you for the review and your understanding.

[Nik]

This was very good. Out of curiosity, have you experienced a lot of bullying/teasing in your childhood? Is this personal to you?

I found it a little strange how, be it you or the 'writer' (boy/girl/whoever), writes in such an evasive and complex manner to begin with, but then moves on to straight forward and trivial problems. "Together we have shared many memorable and less memorable days, but memories all the same."(which is quite a great excerpt by the way) to "When I ran home naked from (the*) gym" and then back to the evasive metaphorical language.
I was also wondering why the diary would mean so much, i wish you had put it in there, rather than the repetitive and elusive hope. I'm also hesitant on why he would write to a diary that has been burned but wasn't alive in the first place.

My criticism definitely wasn't to say that i thought it was bad, it was very good, you certainly have a way with words!
"To whoever finds this last note of a lonely boy"- does he kill himself or has he merely given up?

[Fictionborn]

Thank you for the review.

Fortunately, I have had a happy youth with no bullying and, in fact, not personal to me in any way. Yet, I am interested by the way people can be affect the lives so greatly of one another.

You are right to state that I use two distinct writing styles in this piece, which might not be literally correct. However, I found it necessary to convey the actions the boy has suffered and was not able to use the same manner of writing to show that. As for the writer, the boy who has written to his diary is just a fictional character.

The diary is a therapeutic tool the boy has used extensively to digest the problems of his daily life and possibly in such extreme manner that the diary has become his only ''friend". It's almost as if emptying his heart in the diary makes him believe he's understood and cared for. His mental unstable condition has produced the "living" bond, to outsiders very strange indeed, with the diary.

I think he has done both; given up and killed himself.

In any case, your questions are just what I was aiming for. It's a letter full of mysteries and plot holes. I had hoped the reader would sympathize with the boy, show empathy and above all wonder about the strange contents of this letter.

[Nik]

Very good explanation =) Thanks and good job!