To That Poor, Unfortunate Soul
Mobiverse letter challenge: Day 11 - A deceased person El Dorado wishes he could talk to:
It was always you that I despised. You were so annoying and loud and obnoxious! I don’t know what the others saw in you, especially that stupid Avalon. It felt so good to rip your world apart from the inside out.
Did it hurt? Did it hurt when your ribs broke and your bones shattered and your spine severed and your back split? Was it painful? Of course it was. You tried to be strong, but I could see it in your face, in your eyes, that it was more than you could take. And yes…that was fear I also saw on your face. Nice try….
And silly Avalon…he showed up just when things were getting good! He saw the whole thing. Oh, it felt so good to know you were distraught at seeing him. That whole scene was perfect. If I could relive that moment over and over again I would. That exact moment when your face turned from agony to horror when you noticed Avalon was there. And that moment when Avalon realized it was me…it was all me.
It could have been worse. You could have been Ciro. He suffered immensely. Ker-Ys…eh. I suppose his was pretty bad too. You though, Atlantis…you were the most fun. I mean, I got to see you literally fall apart at the seams! That’s not a sight one gets to see every day.
I wish I could see you now though. In the afterlife. I want you to scream and yell at me. That would be fun. So, so much fun.
So, Atlantis, I write you this letter. I write this letter to you and send it to Hell in hopes that you’ll receive it. I want you to know that I’m happy. I’m happier than you. I’m not miserable like you and your lover and all your stupid friends. My soul is not bitter or angry like yours is. And it never will be.
I’ll continue to reside in this new body…in the back of this man’s mind. I’ll relive the nightmares, the delicious and wonderful nightmares.
Until we meet again, my dear Atlantis.
Spain’s hands quivered as he looked at his newly written letter. This wasn’t the first time he had written a letter like this. The last one had been written to a man named Ciro. It was equally if not more horrific than this one.
Spain ripped the letter to shreds, letting the pieces fall to the ground. He covered his face in his hands, wondering why this was happening to him. He never hurt anyone in the ways that were described in his letters. It was all getting overwhelming. He stood and ran out of the house, ignoring Romano calling out his name. He couldn’t wait.
For the rest of the day he stayed at the church, praying and repenting for crimes he wasn’t even sure he committed.