I’m Supposed To Be Sad About My Parents’ Suicide, But The Truth Is Nothing’s Ever Made Me Happier

This went on until Laura found our dead son’s diary in an old trunk we thought had been lost. And what we read made us want to end our miserable lives as soon as possible. There were detailed accounts of the humiliation and shaming he had gone through each day. Obscenities hurled at him from everywhere he went, his head dunked in the toilet; on one occasion, he was made to act in a feminine way and the video was sent around the whole school, making things much worse. And if this wasn’t enough, he started being insulted on social media too, by the very people who had cheered for him whenever he won a match for the school team. He was called a faggot, a wimp; he was asked to kill himself…oh I’ll never forget the terrible things we got to know that day. But here’s the catch. He was bullied for over a year by none other than YOU.

Yes you, the same Jonathan Wilson who had charmed his way into our hearts, the same Jonathan Wilson who’d rescued my wife from the clutches of depression, the same Jonathan Wilson for whom we were willing to mar our souls for life. Looking back, I realize how vindictive you must have been, how absolutely black hearted, to have come to my house and talked to the parents of the very son you knew you were a cause of the death of. And we, bewitched by your charms had made the ultimate sacrifice for you, given you the title and position of our son, loved and provided for you unconditionally even through all those difficult years of rebellion. We loved you just as much as we did before we found out about your sexuality and your decision of dropping out of college.

All this time, we’d been housing our son’s killer and taking innocent lives to be able to keep him. Yes, that’s right. You’re a killer, Jonathan Wilson and a most ruthless one, might I say. You’re a despicable, cold-blooded murderer and a bully. You took our son from us, you were the cause of those months of excruciating misery and we never knew… we never knew. But now we do. And we know what to do; it’s time for us to meet the fate that lies in wait for us on the other side. And one day, you will have to, too. I wish you every suffering life might offer, you sick bastard.

There is an eerie silence in the room and I can hear my heartbeats pounding away loudly inside my ears. I sit there, surrounded by a sea of corpses, a wrinkled letter in my shaking hands.

Suddenly something strikes me. I smoothen it out and read the last few lines again, carefully. A broad, gleeful smile encroaches my pale face as I feel a wave of thrill wash over me.

Because now I know.