⚊The Hatchet To Hell⚊

Dylan Miller's Farewell.

(big cw: suicide talk and other mentions of death and injury + I recommend you listen to "A1 - It's just a burning memory - The Caretaker" as you read).

Whoever finds this, let it be known that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what I've done. I spent my whole life trying to avoid becoming the man my father wanted me to be, but in the end I just became a copy of the man himself. He hurt people, a lot of people, including me. His own son. I vowed to never do what he did, to never hurt anyone, to never murder anyone, but, I failed.

I hurt people.

I murdered people. So many people.
I didn't know who half of them were, I was blinded by my psychosis, my insanity and paranoia. I'm not well.

I murdered my son. I hurt him. He wasn't mine biologically, but he was and always will be my son. I told myself I would be a good father, that I wouldn't be like my own. But I failed again. I'm no better than him. I deserve to meet the fate that I gave him all those years ago. I was eleven, and I shot my father. He deserved it, I'm not sorry for shooting him. He deserved every last bit of pain that shot through his body. And so do I.

I deserve the mental pain and torture I've been given the past couple months. I deserve it all. I inflicted pain on so many people, I tortured their corpses after they died. I am a sick, sick man. My pills would've helped me, if I had bothered to take them. They'll be used up before I go. I'm not the type of guy who wastes things, I was brought up that way.

I guess some of my childhood was good. It wasn't entirely me having to deal with drunk dad, I suppose. He taught me how to chop up wood when he felt like being a good father. That's where I learnt how to chop up his corpse. Ah, no use thinking about the beginning. I need to focus on the end. And this is it.

This is the end of Dylan Miller. It's been due to happen for some time now, I don't know how I haven't done this sooner. Tyler's death caused me to think about it in more detail, and made me realise I need to end this. I miss him. I hope he got to see the supposed "pearly gates". I hope I don't see him in the afterlife, I don't want him to see me in the state I'm going to be in shortly.

If you'd have told me a few months ago that I'd be downing all my pills, I'd have laughed in your face. It's funny how quickly someone's opinions can change in such a small amount of time. I haven't had any of my main medication since... I don't remember. Fitting, isn't it? I have to make up for it soon enough, so why wait any longer? There's no need for me to write all of this, but I should really stick to the theme of my entire journal. Right? This page will be wide open, directly beside my body.

I hope that whoever's found me will feel some form of peace.

If you're the police, I'm sorry. I assume you've been waiting a while to give my victims their justice and I'm sorry I took that from you. I hope you can finally rest easy at night. Hopefully.

If you're one of my neighbours, I'm sorry for the loud noise you'll have heard a little bit ago. I'm sorry you didn't know you were living beside a murderer, an axe-murderer even. I hope you're okay and I'm sorry for the sight you see before you. I am truly sorry.

If you're my wife, (well, ex-wife), goodbye. I hope your new husband, wife, whoever, treats you better than I ever did. You deserve better than me and I'm hopeful that you got that. Goodbye Stephanie. And don't worry, I blocked your number before I did it.

If you're anyone else who doesn't fit those categories, why are you in my house? Haha. I had to make at least one more joke before I end it. I should've become a comedian, I wish I did. My death would've been one that people were upset about, unlike mine in this life. There's no point thinking about that now, my life in this universe is over. Y'know, I'm actually quite glad. I'm glad it's over for me. I'm sure many other people feel the same way.

This is what I deserve after all. I do regret what I've done, and I am deeply sorry for it. I deserve nothing but pain.

I gave many people pain and this is how they get their revenge. I was so obsessed with making others feel pain that I didn't think about how much agony it'd make me feel. The guilt rips through my mind everyday, tearing what's left of my mental stability to pieces. It's a comforting feeling, one I've felt for most of my life. This obsessive, deranged feeling. The one that my targets all saw before they died. And one that I'll be feeling before I die too.

Death. Such a scary thing. It could come at any point in time and noone has any idea when it'll come for them. Unless, you're like me, and bring it onto yourself. It seems like I've rambled long enough. I'm sorry. I guess Spencer, my father, Tyler, and now me, all have some things in common. We've all been shot in the head and it happened to all of them because of me.

I don't recommend downing fiftyish pills at once. At least I'm not wasting them, haha. They've been piling up for months so there's quite a few. They won't kill me though. I always go out with a bang.

- - -

-w/c: 1000!!!
-I guess this is the end of Dylan Miller, hm? This has been a ride and a half and I've loved every second of it. I've been writing this since December (2023) and it's been so, so fun. I hope everyone's enjoyed reading it, and finding out what Dylan's actually been up to. I admit, there's quite a few loose ends in the story but... who says it's over entirely? This might be the end of Dylan's story but we haven't seen anyone elses, have we?

ᖴIᑎᑎ☆