Grampsona 5

Part 24- The Conclusion

Hello. My name is Makoto. 

And it was me. 

I wrote every word you've seen here.

Each and every one. 

Wasn't it funny? 

Didn't you enjoy it?

I did it. 

I killed them. 

My brother, David. My mother, Maria. My brother's friend, Charlotte. I stabbed them. Over and over and over. It was fun. I enjoyed myself. 

My brother betrayed me. He found a better friend. Someone he loved more than me. 

I suppose you've read about that all before though, haven't you? If you've read up until this point, you'd know everything. So why am I telling you this?

I just have the desire to be finite. 

After this, there will be no more. I will be done. I can't hide much longer. 

It's been fun, readers. I've enjoyed myself, I have. But the chapters have slowed down. This was all written to hide my own guilt. They deserved my blade, but they were still my family. And so, I felt guilt.

At first, I didn't, really. I felt nothing. I felt empty. Life went on. Their bodies rotted on the floor as I carried on with my everyday life. 

But the stench became too much. The all-consuming guilt began to erode in my subconscious. I tried to drown it, of course. To choke it out as I had before. But emotions weren't people. Guilt can't breathe.

Guilt cannot be killed.

At first, this project was just me trying to write a silly story. Was just me trying to take my mind off of the rancid scent of the bodies rotting on the floor. 

Writing is the window to someone's mind. A story is just allowing the reader to wander into someone's consciousness for a brief moment of their life. 

And I, of course, was no different.

Elements of blood, of murder, became more prevalent. My stories began to unwind as I got further and further in, words being jumbled beyond recognition. Eventually, I could barely update this story anymore. The guilt that ate me alive inside began to tear me apart. And so, this black ink of feeling seeped from my pen, and into your eyes. 

I even tried to confess. 

And still, nothing was done.

Funny, isn't it? How easily people are able to mistake things for a joke. How easily people fail to read between the lines.

If you've read this far. Then you must know. Clearly you must have figured out what I've done, right? My begs for forgiveness, my endless pleas for suffering. I told you exactly what I did, from the very start.

Well, that's all the time I have. Where I am right now. It's 1:30 in the morning. I'm writing this in the dead of night, on a phone that's several years too old. 

I'm done with this story.

I feel no more guilt.

I've killed the unkillable. 

So farewell, dear readers.

Enjoy the last words of me, the author.

Signed,

Julia Shepherd.