From stbush@iglou.com Thu Mar 20 12:20:12 1997 Path: news1.infoave.net!news-dc-10.sprintlink.net!news-pull.sprintlink.net!news.sprintlink.net!news-peer.sprintlink.net!panix!news.panix.com!panix.com!eli!not-for-mail From: stbush@iglou.com (S THOMAS BUSH) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Subject: BOMBADIL 5: "Fault" Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Date: 20 Mar 1997 17:20:12 GMT Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Lines: 120 Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us> Message-ID: <eli9703201221@qz.little-neck.ny.us> NNTP-Posting-Host: panix.com X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/Year97/344> X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> Xref: news1.infoave.net alt.sex.stories.moderated:257 alt.sex.stories:173363 My Fault (Suicide note) Short Story #5 by Tom Bombadil (c) Nov 1996 I give permission for anyone to share or archive this story. Author's note: This was written in memory of a girl I once went to school with, a long time ago. It is very painful. The events are true, the words are mine. No real names have been used. ******************************************************************** It's my fault. It was my fault. I'm to blame. Me. One night, five years ago, Daddy came to me. I was sixteen. Maybe if I'd been smarter, or yelled or screamed or something, he wouldn't have done what he did. Maybe if I'd been braver and told him what Timothy and I had done, things would have been different. Timothy knew. Timothy knows. After they find this note, everyone will know. If I hadn't teased so much, if I'd dressed normal like Momma wanted me to, Daddy might not have done it. So many things I should have done. So many things I shouldn't have. He was drunk. I knew that. I still teased him. I knew better, but I it did anyway. It was fun! God help me, it was! I never dreamed that I'd force him into doing what he did. I didn't know! But it was my fault for making him do it. Afterwards, I couldn't talk to him. He couldn't face me, knowing what had happened, so he didn't talk either. I should have told him, made him understand, let him know! But I didn't. My fault! Three weeks later, he knew. I don't know how. Maybe he was watching really close. Maybe he just guessed. If I'd been braver, or smarter, or faster, nothing would have happened. He stood there at my door and asked me, straight out. "Are you pregnant?" I burst into tears and nodded. When I looked up to tell him, he was gone. I never saw him again that day, or that night, or the next day. The next night he was there with some people I didn't know. They surprised me, in my own bed, asleep. One of them gagged me, another one tied me up, and then they put a blindfold on me. I was put in a car, or maybe a small van or truck, on the floor in front of a seat. They took me somewhere. It smelled like a doctor's office. Someone gave me a shot of something. That's the last I remember. It was a day later that I woke up in my own bed. It felt like I had a hangover. The pain between my legs, and the ache deep inside, told me what had happened. I cried. I cried for me, I cried for my lost one. Daddy showed up at my door and looked at me. He said he had to. He said it was the only way. I was crying, but I still said some horrible things. I said "How could you? Murderer!" I said "It wasn't yours ..." and he turned white, and left. I was trying to say "It wasn't yours to kill", but the crying got in the way. Both were true. If I'd told him about Timothy and me, it wouldn't have happened. My baby was dead. Murdered. My fault. The next day I learned that my Daddy had died. An accident, they said. His car under an 18 wheeler. Lost control, they said. Yes, I knew that. He'd lost control. That's why he died. That's why my baby died. My fault. I never told you, Momma. I couldn't. I can't stand the pain anymore. I hope you understand, Momma. You too, Timothy. I can't take it anymore. The pills are working. I do feel sleepy. Somewhere I read that this is the easiest way. I fall asleep, and that's it. No more pain, no more guilt. I'm so tired ********************************************************************* Author's note: She survived this attempt, and was institutionalized for a while. She tried again after she was let out, and was successful. If you can call it success. ********************************************************************* -- Story Submission: <URL:mailto:story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> Moderator Contact: <URL:mailto:story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> Newsgroup FAQ: <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/faq.html> Archive site (could be better): <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/>