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Subject: {Bombadil}JDR"My Fault"( Mf mf inc )[1/1]
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JOHN DARK REPOST
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=====================
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.
********************************************************************
=====================
My Fault
(Suicide note)
By Tom Bombadil
via: stbush@iglou.com
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.
*********************************************************************
=====================
My Fault
(Suicide note)
By Tom Bombadil
-30-
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