An Undead Letter

Dear Tenuk,

I don’t know why I’m writing this. I just wanted to write. If I direct it at someone, the words come easier. As if I’m imagining that you’ll sympathise with me. I mean, if I said this in person, you probably would… You know what I mean.

I just want to get these words out.

I just want to go to sleep.

I’m tired of being here. I’m tired of being dead. I’m tired of being a slave. I traded myself away for no reason. I gave myself up, with no terms or conditions, just let Death have her way with me. She screws me over daily. She hurts me. Not so much physically any more. Mostly mentally. Playing on my own self-loathing. Kicking me where it hurts the most, not on my body but in what remains of my soul.

Not like I didn’t bring it on myself. My friends were drifting away. I considered them to be worth far more than I could ever be. So I let myself get walked all over. As far as I was concerned, they deserved to live more than me.

But really, I never believed my life was worth living.

Vok seem to love me, but I don’t understand why. They all considered me a hero, a saviour, all that nonsense. They called me a friend and a lover. I never believed them. I could never understand what all these people saw in me.

All I ever did was what was needed. I wasn’t doing anything smart or clever or heroic or anything like that. I was just doing my damn job, trying to get from A to B without breaking down and crying. Or, more likely, going from A to B with tears in my eyes and the taste of salt in my mouth. Anything on top of that was a fluke. A happy accident.

I just accidentally fell into things. I have never deserved any of the praise I’ve ever received. It sickens me that other vok think I’m a good being, when in fact I’m just as selfish as everyone else. I fucking hate it.

When I died, things only ever got worse. My death was painful. I thought maybe my being undead would be vaguely pleasant. Nope, I was wrong. It was just as horrible as my brief, shitty life. It was the same old pain and punishment. And the thoughts going through my head. The words and hatred and sexual ideas that torture me as She hurts me physically. It’s abuse. Pain. Suffering. More pain. Then She gets in my head and reinforces my own hatred. She knows I hate myself. She understands. She always understood. So that’s what Death does, she gives me the pain and punishment I should receive.

It was all pain and punishment that I deserve. I was never a good person. This was all me repenting for my sins. My sins are many and numerous and I can’t even bring myself to sit down and think about them. I never tried to confront my sins when I was alive. I did nothing to right my wrongs. I did nothing.

I am a play-thing. A toy. A slave. Nothing more.

And I deserve this.

You’ll try and write back, you’ll try and talk to me and say that I don’t deserve to be in pain, that I deserve to be happy. But I won’t believe you. I never will.

I deserve everything I get, until the day I genuinely close my eyes, until the day I die for real.

I’m sorry for everything.

– Arkay