28

Feb

by thefourpartland

There are things better left unsaid. There always have been. I’m certainly no different. I have things in my closet that I do not speak about openly. I think we all do. But given what is about to happen next, I think today is the time to speak of them.

When I was young and our family pets were old, I’d curse and shout at them for no longer being able to control themselves. They’d give me a sad look, like they wished they weren’t growing old, but they couldn’t do anything about it.

I wet the bed when I was older. For some reason, my bladder never stopped going in the night, and I had to hide it from everyone else. A little thing, but so embarrassing as a grown man.

I stole little things, here and there. They’d call out to me, speak to me, and I’d slip them in a pocket or under my shirt, and then be off with them. Nobody noticed, or at least I never got caught.

And well, there’s the reason I’m writing this. I slept with your wife. For years. And then I killed her and ate her. With barbecue sauce. Very tasty, if I may be so bold.

Anyway, that was what I wanted you to know.

Thanks again for being my friend all these years.

The end of the letter was splattered in blood.

Comments

  1. L.M. Stull on 03.26.2011

    HA! This will forever be one of my all-time favorites. Probably says a lot about me. Love stories about secrets, especially demented ones. After all, don’t we all have things we don’t share with the world?

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