After School

Wilson's Letter

September 3, XX46

To my father, Wilfred Stevenson, my mother, Vanessa the Witch, and my marked students, Yuta, Carter, Jessica, Olivia, Josh, Ronald, Barbara, and Jimmy:

I miss you.

I tell you, my dearests, if you could see through my eyes you'd understand my fear of everything in sight. You know I would quickly sell my heart for a son, but I suppose I have learned something over the two hundred years of my life on Earth. I have learned that not even a child will take away the guilt of murder. I have met many individualistic souls and it makes me sad to realize that they are all gone because of me. Oh, how I wish I could ease my troubled mind.

These burning flames, these crashing waves, wash over me like a hurricane.

I have many worries in my clouded mind, however, there is no silver lining here. I worry for the sun and I worry for the moon. I worry for the angels and I worry for the devils. I worry that some of you have died young while I worry that some of you will grow old. Oh, I worry for the time I spent worrying alone, with no one but my Shadow. It makes me sad but I know that not a thing can rectify the atrocities I have committed. I break in half at the remembrance of all who I have killed. All I know is that I have created a grim catastrophe.

These burning flames, these crashing waves, wash over me like a hurricane.

I know you will all never read this letter. There's no way to send it to you in the afterlife. The red devil at my side is scornful and sneers down at me as I write. However, on my other side, stands a dark-haired boy with blazing black eyes. I have noticed sparks of violet hues underneath his obsidian iris, and he reminds me of the boy. He tells me to write and apologize to his friends. I agree as I believe my soul cannot rest peacefully if I do not write an apology. I regret living. It was not my fault that I was born a Stevenson, however, it was my fault for actively enjoying the curse.

These burning flames, these crashing waves, wash over me like a hurricane.

My first apology goes to my father. I am sorry you went through two hundred years of endless torture just so I could be born into this world. You were granted two days with me, and I imagine that must have been wonderful. However, you disobeyed the curse, and I understand that. I am not mad at your mistakes that caused me to make my own. I am pitiful towards you, father. What a cruel world we live in, that it forces a father to abandon his son. Yet this cruel world is so beautiful, even if it was just for two days.

My second apology goes to my mother, Vanessa the Witch. You are no witch. You are the kind and fierce woman who raised me. In hindsight, I realize how cruel I've been towards you, mother. I realize how I have taken you for granted in my youth and still as a mature man. I am drowning deep in regret and sorrow. You have lived for centuries, enduring pain and anguish. Enduring my cruel and cunning ancestors, producing son after son. May your soul rest in peace, mother. You deserve to be at rest, alongside your innocent Pagan sisters. My heart throbs for you, it misses your motherly embrace daily.

My final apology goes to my dearest children from Room 110, in the year 1946. I simply wanted a son, a loving family, a normal life. However, the great lengths I went to retrieve my dreams were malicious and inexcusable. I manifested your worst fears and brought them to life to haunt you for the rest of your days. I have hurt your precious young hearts by killing your friends. I am deeply sorry. I wish you could see the drops of tears splattered on this parchment paper. I know that not even this Hell I am residing in can atone for my sins. Although, I realize now that you were my only living family, back then. I yearn to tell the world that I was not acting when I seemed to care. I truly cared, somewhere deep inside.

To Jimmy, I realize I have stripped the world of a great mind. I have stripped your bright future and regret looms over me to this day. I hope you are resting in peace, on the other side of Hell. You are an angel, who brought love and intelligence to Willesden High School every day.

To Yuta, I have no words. All I can say is that you were the greatest leaders of them all, my son. Your sacrifice did not go in vain, as I have written the accounts of September 1946 in my green pocket journal. Perhaps one day, a historian will find them and write a book. You do not deserve to be resting in Hell, beside me. You were forcibly marked and forced into being the new Witch during your life, which doomed your future. You deserved to live a fruitful and joyous life, and I am deeply sorry for stripping you of that. I wish there was a way to change it all. Change this cruel world and change my malevolent actions of the past. But there simply is not. 

These burning flames, these crashing waves, wash over me like a hurricane.

As I am sitting in this dark corner, writing with a quill pen dipped in the ink of my sorrow, I mourn. My mind is clouded with troubles, unable to be eased. I suppose there is no hope for me, although I realize there never was. I was destined to die. In the end, I suppose I am happy to have been proved wrong, even if it meant my sacrifice was for naught.

Still, I worry for the sun and I worry for the moon. I worry for the angels and I worry for the devils. I worry for the blacks and I worry for the whites of nature. I worry for the innocent witches and I worry for the guilty witch hunters. I worry for my father and I worry for his father. I worry for Wilson and I worry for William. I worry for Yuta and I worry for his friends. Perhaps you would understand if you could see through my eyes, but I shall not hold it against you if you cannot.

I miss you, my loves.

From your son, father, and teacher,

Wilson Stevenson