Clare.

I know you probably don’t remember my name. Nor the summer week we spent together. After all it wasn’t that important. Not to anyone but us at least. But I just want you to know, to know that I remember. I remember the sweet smell of your hair and the way the strands tickled my fingertips. Sometimes I just sit; anywhere is fine, I just sit and I imagine what could’ve came out of that experience. And I summarise that nothing could’ve, after all, nothing did, nothing except for this room. We parted with an awkward farewell, my mind tracing the touch of your arms moments after you fell from me, leaving me so lonely as the wind breezed by, carrying you away like a dream.

Once, not too long after, when autumn brought crunchy leaves to the floor and crimson to my life once more I was reminded of your blood, of the way its velvety texture stained my skin and of how the cut ran deeper than I ever could’ve imagined. I wonder how it’s healed; now I’m not there to nurse it, I wonder how you feel when you stroke the scar and a vague blur of my face comes to light. Do you muse for more than a mere second, like me? Or do you banish the idea entirely, only burying our time shared deeper into your soul, further from your mind as it brings back painful connotations.

I miss you Clare. I miss the way your hands clung with desperation to my neck that time, as you clattered clumsily to the bouncy, meadow floor. I miss the way your fair locks were like feathers on a bird, the way you were like a bird, always trying to fly free, free from me. I miss the feeling of exhilaration as I saw life trickle out of your emerald eyes and I felt myself feast on it. I miss that moment, remember? Oh no, you wouldn’t, would you? Shall I remind you? That moment when the knife finally peeled away your golden flesh, that moment when I finally hurt you as much as you’d hurt me.

You only had to remember my name, Clare. One simple task and you couldn’t even get that right. Your brother could, your brother was desperate for a friend in anyone, even in a monster like me. Does that scare you? Doesn’t that just fill you with hatred? You slipped through my fingers Clare, you and your silky body, you slipped through my fingers and into that shallow, too shallow grave. It was an easy mistake, one I shouldn’t have made, the only one after countless others that really saved you from your imminent death.

This isn’t an apology. This is only a letter, a letter to remind you of what really happened that holiday. I didn’t love you, I never loved you and I never will love you, not after you put me here, locked me in this cell for what you like to call ‘justice’. It isn’t justice, its sick revenge for something that was your fault in the first place. I was normal before you came along, average if a little alone. I told you what I wanted to hear, the thing that would’ve solved all your problems, or do you still not remember?

I saw you everyday afterwards but you never spoke it back to me. All I wanted was to see my name float from your supple lips, and it never did. Not even on that stuffy day in the courtroom where the sun didn’t shine and the breeze didn’t blow. Do you understand yet, that that’s the reason I plunged my blade into your stomach, too many people had ignored me for too long. One simple smile and I was captivated by you. Then your brother skipped along, he was too desperate, a lonely soul, just like me. We couldn’t save each other Clare so I left him be.

Instead I became fixated to you, and I followed you when you jogged. And I followed you when you ran. And I followed you when you sprinted, away from me. I watched as your breath strained against your brittle ribs and I caught your flailing hand as you fell. Onto that meadow, you clung to me as I dished out my punishment. Say my name Clare. Sweat glistened your brow as tears escaped with your bleating pleads. I’m not sorry Clare. It may have been a mistake but I feel no regret. This was my warning to the world. This was my sign of what really happens when people munch away greedily at your soul until there’s nothing left but an empty hollow shell. Like I said. I’m average. This is what everybody is truly like Clare. Except for the lucky ones. Except for the one’s like you. The one’s who have friends.

Do you remember my name yet?
Anonymous.