The House (Editing)

My name is…actually my name doesn’t matter, not yet at least, what’s important is I killed someone you love.

By now the terrible news should have reached you. Your emotions must be a mess, a ceaseless heavy bludgeon carving into your chest without mercy. I need you to know that there’s nothing you could have done to change this. Repeat that sentence until it sinks in, take a long breath and imprint into your heart.

The world is a random place and I’m ashamed to tell you that so was this tragedy. I don’t mean it as an accident like a car speeding at a bend too sharp or losing balance and smashing the parents favourite vase. I intended to kill, planned for it and if you’re receiving this executed it. What wasn’t known was the target, a variable as random as weather. Sadly the weather’s randomness brought me to your…

This by the way is not a confession, that including supporting evidence I already sent to the police. I understand their incompetence well and intend not to complicate this unsavoury incident further than necessary. Nor is this begging for forgiveness, I wouldn’t disrespect your pain so callously. This I’m beginning to understand is an explanation, as so many in the fog of grief plead for, I attempt to make a thread leading out the abyss my actions strand you. One less unknown in your time full of unending dark.

My reasons for killing I’ll keep to myself. There are irrelevant anyway and wish you’ll believe me when I say I write this not to provoke. It’s simple accountability. A simple kindness in a disproportionate exchange.

And please always remember, you did nothing wrong, nor did your…

I’m sorry for your loss.