Dear Felix Johnson

dear felix

He sat the letter on a grave. It fluttered in the wind, its contents opening slightly on the granite headstone. The boy's eyes fluttered closed, and the trees swayed above him, casting dark shadows across the cemetery.

The boy stood like this until the sun dipped behind the horizon, and the moon came to say hello. He finally opened his eyes, and looked down at the letter again, tears filling his eyes that had already been swollen for hours.

As the moon came into full view, the boy smiled, a broken smile that wasn't at peace. His voice came out cracked and overused, seemingly tired of calling out for nights on end. "At-t least you're in a better place now."

Then the boy left, leaving an emptiness in the cemetery, just like the lack of life in that wretched place.

Felix vaguely remembered him and his brown hair.

The letter peeled open, revealing words upon words, rambling sentences and memories that Felix would've rather forgotten.

They had forgotten, after all.

No one remembered Felix anymore. It had been five years since anyone had come to visit.

His older brother had a wife now, and Felix had a younger sister, and a niece.

Dear Felix Johnson,

The first time I met you was in grade eight. I was wearing my brand-new clothes, a bright neon windbreaker and some designer jeans on my first day, starting in November. It seems so stupid now, to be so happy about these things.

My alarm had rung, making me jump up from my bed.

I don't really remember the bus ride, or even my first class in that school.

But I remember you.

You were scowling at the marker strokes on your locker. Ugly things, juvenile things, just slurs in general. Hush fell upon the passersby, a quiet with too much sound. Your red hair stood apart from the crowd, our plain brown hair in stark contrast.

"Jerks." You muttered at the group who had begun to snigger at you.

I had frozen. This was supposed to be a prestigious boys' school, with an amazing community. I should've known.

No, I knew already.

You had pulled out a cloth, and started to wipe the words off, when a boy pushed your face into the locker, making the sharpie smear across your face.

The hallway burst into laughter, but I couldn't move to help you, couldn't reach out a hand to help you or anything.

Instead, I turned my back towards you and left.

Felix's transparent hands clenched. This boy was saying sorry five goddamn years late. This boy was the only one who hadn't laughed, hadn't done anything except the worst.

That boy with the brown hair and gold eyes Felix used to admire had left Felix in the hall, leaving him in a pit of monsters that seemed to never run out of poison.

That boy's gold eyes had watched Felix fall under the waves, watched Felix scramble to reach the surface, watched Felix run out of air, watched him become a fair.

At least the monsters had watched him flail with emotion in their eyes.

It wasn't fair.

Why couldn't you have just bent down and helped me up? Felix thought, why couldn't you have reached out a hand?