Sincerely, Wilbur Soot

Dear My Brothers and Father

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.