Entry 0.0: A little (hell)o
5th of November 2026 (now)
Hello, this is Silas Oliver.
I’m going to keep this simple and short.
The love of my life just killed herself and left me alone with her gun and a new pack of Marlboro cigarettes on the coffee table. And, of course, a guide on how to move on- commonly referred to as a ‘suicide letter’.
Since she has, however, left me no guide on how to unbreak a heart, remodel one from scratch, or even just imagine creating a single beating heart cell into existence, I decided to write it for myself.
So yes, yes, this is my guide on how to get over a not-very-happy, tragic ending.
Let me get started with my lover’s suicide letter (with a little touch of mine).
“My dear Olives,
I'm so sorry.
Yours,
the woman you loved since you learnt how to breathe"
Her name wasn’t ‘the-woman-you-loved-since-you-learnt-how-to-breathe’, of course. This is just my touch to her guide.
As you can see, really, there isn’t much to touch on anyway.
So, you can imagine how it felt to find this bloodied, folded piece of paper in her bleeding hands. I barfed first, of course, because... blood. Much more bloody blood than my retinas could tolerate. But after that, I remember sliding down the wall next to her tub and crying a little.
Scratch that. I cried a lot; I could hardly catch up with the oxygen my body was running out of. Her suicide note, her last touch, her last breaths, were caked with her blood and my useless tears.
Her name was Amber, by the way. Amber as in the fiery sun setting/sinking somewhere in space, Amber as in the core of her love’s fire somewhere in my chest, Amber as in ‘who will warm me in your absence, Amber?’, Amber as in her amber eyes.
Side note: we were watching Friends and eating Nachos dipped in guacamole yesterday on my little couch. Just yesterday.
No, I’m not sad.
Another side note: nothing is how it seems, and the truth will be buried under a thousand words. Unravelling it won’t be as easy as revealing Amber’s name.
Is it her real name?
No, it is her real name; I’m just messing around with you.
Or am I?
Okay, this is stupid; I’ll knock it off.
