Dear my brothers, my father, and anyone who had the misfortune of calling me their friend, I'm ending it here in the lake near the park.
I'm sorry if this letter doesn't make sense or isn't suited to your tastes. This is my first time writing such a heartfelt note and my hands are trembling from both adrenaline and fear. Is that normal? It's been happening a lot. My handwriting doesn't seem too messy. I hope it's comprehensible in a way. Sorry, I'm just writing down anything I think of. I'm trying to build up courage to do it.
To anyone who cares for me, please don't be sad. Don't cry over my dead body when someone eventually finds it at the bottom of the lake. Please, for me, don't hurt yourself over it. I know it's a lot to ask, considering I will be dead in the next hour, but I don't want that for any of you. It's probably insensitive and selfish to demand happiness from my loved ones after dying, but I can't erase the sentence even if I wanted to. I wrote it in pen.
There was a prolonged silence, the only noise being the rustling leaves nearby. The water weaved through the rings as Wilbur dragged his foot through it. Everything was cold, windy, and dark. Wilbur wanted to go home.
I deeply apologize for the tears that land on the page. It's hard to keep myself from crying while using a pen simultaneously. I'm glad no one is here to see me cry. I hate having people attempt to comfort me. I feel like such a burden; someone who needs to be pitied. There's nothing I hate more than pity.
A tear landed on the back of his shaking palm, making him freeze in his writing. Wilbur couldn't help but smile. How stupid this was, writing a letter that was supposed to explain why he did what he did, but instead he wrote in the most ridiculous words. His smile slightly wavered.
I don't want to die.
But I don't want to live either. Despite that fact, one of the two overpowers the other unfortunately. I've already decided my choice this morning. Today will be the day whether I like it or not. My body makes the choices for me, not the brain. It's subconscious.
The brain doesn't want to die. But the body does. I guess in a way, that's my way of saying I'm having conflicting feelings. Feelings that are conflicting. God, this is so hard. Why do emotions have to be so difficult? Why aren't they identical with emotional books? The type of books Techno reads, the ones that make him cry because of the bittersweet ending. Those are always black and white. You can either be happy or sad. You can either be suicidal or optimistic.
I don't want to be real.
I want to be in a fictional world where my emotions are nothing but plot. Character, personality, and my feelings are just words written in a journal for millions of people to laugh at and cry to. Perhaps when I'm reincarnated as a father with a renewed purpose in life, I won't have to complain about this one.
Wilbur sat beside the lake, his legs dangling off the ledge. As he stared into the rippling water, a gentle breeze brushed against his tear-stained cheeks. Techno was always there for him when needed. He was so brave and resilient, nothing like him. It was selfish of Wilbur to do this to his brother who loved him unconditionally.
I'm sorry, Techno. I'm sorry. I don't know how many times I can say those 2 words. If I could, I would spend an eternity filling this page with that sentence. I know you loved me, so I want you to know that I love you. It will stay that way forever, even when we are both reincarnated in our own fictional world. In that book, we are two brothers with a strong and healthy relationship. I'm happy, and you're as capable as ever.
I read those books you recommended to me. They were good, I liked them. Though, I might be biased due to how much you love to talk about it. You might not have noticed, but you smile excessively when talking about your favorite books. It's adorable. Keep smiling, it fits you King.
Wilbur lowered the pen, staring at the words he etched onto the paper with a pained expression. Techno's smile was always so warm and bright. Even when his older brother didn't realize it, Wilbur would notice his hands fidget whenever he talked about something he enjoyed. It was nice. He wasn't sure if he wanted it to end.
I don't want to die.
I really don't want to die.
I want to go home and hug my father. I want to hear Techno talk about his favorite book. I want to go swimming with Tommy. I want to learn the song he loves on my guitar that my mother bought me. I want to see my mom again.
Mom always had the sweetest smile. She would laugh at Tommy's inappropriate jokes and Father would lecture the both of them. There were ups and downs; times where she scared me. They were just bursts of anger. Mother never meant any harm when she yelled at us. We know she wasn't the best in parenting, but she was still someone we loved dearly. None of you would be here without her. I miss her so much, and I know you do too, Father. I want her back.
After being silent for a moment, Wilbur let out a small sob. He closed his eyes shut, letting the tears fall down the tip of his nose. It was hard to remain quiet on that ledge, unfortunately he couldn't stop a gasp or two from escaping his mouth. Wilbur's sobs echoed through the silent park, his grip on the pen tight as he tried to write his letter. The handwriting was messier than before.
For Tommy, I wish the best for you. I hope you achieve that silly dream of yours where you become president. I'm sorry I laughed when you told me about your aspiration, I promise you'll be the best damn president the world's ever seen. And I won't be able to see that day. I'm so sorry. I really am.
You still remember how to play the guitar, right? Just like how I taught you? If you're ever feeling sad thinking about me, please Tommy, work on your skills. Fiddle with the strings to your hearts content. You can even stare at it and imagine me playing you the most beautiful song in history; just anything Tommy, anything other than hurting yourself. It'd make me so sad, and you don't want to make me sad, right?
You're such a big man, Tommy.
Wilbur paused, wiping away his tears with the back of his hand. He took a shuddering breath as he looked up at the sky, quiet sobs leaking from his mouth. It was a full moon. The lake was utter silence, not even the park beside it emitting noise.
He'd always appear happy to the ones he loved, eager to conceal his disheveled feelings from his family and friends. He didn't want them to worry. He couldn't bear to see the tears welled up in his families eyes if he ever told them what his thoughts had been over the course of three years. His family don't even know he's here; he told them hs was going for a walk. Wilbur was a coward, and he knew it.
Dad, I feel as though I owe an apology to you the most. I know I haven't been the kindest toward you, and I've known for all these years. Simply writing such a sentence feels bitter, but I hope you know my intentions aren't identical. Father, we've both had our vulnerable moments. We've both seen it. The day mother died, I saw you crack, a single tear sliding down your face as you hugged your three children. And you saw me break, staying silent despite my tendency to be loud and obnoxious.
We were both greatly affected by her death. We all were. I tried to move on by throwing in light jokes, but grief quickly turned to anger. I'm so sorry for starting those arguments. I'm so sorry for being a terrible son. I'm so sorry for leaving you all behind like this. Mother would've never liked for us to be so distant, which is why I feel the need to tell you this now.
I love you.
My father who has raised me, seen my most vulnerable moments, and has never left my side despite all of the expletives and imprecations I tossed his way, I love you.
The gratitude and outwright appreciation I feel can not simply be woven into words on a piece of paper. I want you to know that I am proud to be your son. I am thankful for the fact that you are the one who raised me.
Wilbur stared at the paper, his grip on the pen faltering. He withdrew his legs from the edge of the lake, sitting up. There was a prolonged silence before the sound of the pen filled the air once again.
I will love all of you. Even if you are forcibly taken from my arms, I will love each and every one of you. Until the last star in this universe burns out, I will love my family. Until the last grain of sand falls through my fingers, I will love my family.
Techno, I will love you more than you will ever be loved. I promise you, when I am happier than I am now, I will hopefully read every single one of your books that you wish to write in the future.
Tommy, I love you more than I do for myself. Your need to bring happiness wherever you went always worked for me, and it'd be an understatement to say I am grateful you're my little brother. You may annoy me at times, but I promise you Tom, you are my light in darkness.
And Phil, I would do anything to aid our relationship. I wish you could realize my compassion; how I truly think of you as a father. I can't think of anyone else in this world who'd be fit to by dad more than you. I promise you, I have loved you more than I have ever loved in my life.
There was a drawn out silence.
Sincerely, Wilbur Soot.
The name was written with a mix of determination and vulnerability. It felt as though he was holding up the finished product of an orchestral symphony. Wilbur stood up from the ground, leaving the pen on the concrete. He stared at the letter that he put his heart and soul into; everything he had kept quiet. The note was his finished symphony.
This was supposed to be his final words.
The last thing his family would see of him before the cops inevitably pulled his dead body out of the water. They'd ask his father to identify the body and with tears running down his face, his father would confirm. Wilbur imagined the face of his family. Techno, hugging Tommy as close as he could with an unbreakable expression, almost as if he were a statue. His little brother Tommy with tears soaking Wilbur's pillows every night, desperate for any type of his brother's presence.
This letter was supposed to be his last words.
Wilbur stared at the letter, his hands shaking. Tear stains were littered through the page. After a moment of silence, he let out a small sob, looking at the water below. He couldn't see the bottom. It was dark, cold, and windy.
He could do it. No one was there to stop him. He could jump down into the water below, barely struggling against the presure. His breath could run out, and he'd be free from everything.
But would his family be free?
Wilbur leaned his head down, covering his face with the page despite there being anyone to witness it. He couldn't stop the tears from running down his face, letting out whines and sobs as he did so. It was loud and noisy, but he didn't even notice.
He doesn't want to do this. He doesn't want to kill himself. He doesn't want to leave just yet.
In a fit of sorrow, Wilbur crumpled the letter in his trembling hands, his gasps and sobs echoing through the empty park. He loved his family so much. If it meant he had to force himself to get help, he would live another day. He wants to go home.
Holding the crumpled up letter tight in his hands, Wilbur immediately bolted from the spot, running away from his thoughts which seemed to follow after him. Emotions are so confusing for someone like him.
He wished he wasn't real.
Wilbur's tears slipped down his chin as he ran, the wind making his face cold and wet. He let his body lead him to his house as he closed his eyes tightly, holding the crumpled letter like a llifeline. He passed by parked cars and different houses, the occasional stranger or so trying to get his attention. But he didn't even realize. He just wanted to go home.
Reaching the front lawn, Wilbur finally allowed himself to slow down, taking shuddering deep breaths as he walked to the front door. He wasted no time getting through the front door, his hands trembling as he looked up at the first person he saw.
"Wilbur? Where were you?" His father asked, taken aback by his son's tear-streaked face and trembling figure. Concern filled his father's eyes, the sight almost repulsive to Wilbur. Even after every argument and altercation, he still managed to show care and compassion towards him.
Before his father could say anything else, Wilbur immediately wrapped his arms around him, sobbing into his chest. It felt so much better than being outside by himself. He missed the feeling of being embraced so much. Wilbur felt his father slowly reciprocate the hug, pulling him in closer.
Wilbur's tears soaked Phil's sweater as he tightened his grip, hearing his brothers call out his name. The letter in his hand had nearly ripped from how hard he was gripping it.
"Wil? What's wrong?"
"Are you okay?"
That was all it took, hearing the voice of his family once again. It was bright, warm, and comfortable. He loved his family so much, it was foolish of him to underestimate it. As Wilbur felt the hands of his brothers wrap around him, he loosened his grip. The letter fell out of his hands.
Those were supposed to be his last words. His finished symphony.
Wilbur was so happy to have lived.