Post by Reyn on Feb 3, 2022 21:23:12 GMT
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My dearest Elisabeth,
I killed a man tonight. I killed a man, and he did not die.
Indeed, this letter might be the only evidence there exists of my actions. I'm hesitant to even call them sins, if that's the word you're thinking of- and, perhaps if these letters reach you in the way I intend, you too will hesitate. The Politiet will be of no help, anyway. Not here. Not him.
He's resting in my sister's old room, now; almost as sickly as she used to be, though I doubt they'll meet the same end. I had to carry him here from the alley. Light as a feather, of course. A hollowed-out carcass of a man with enough waxen skin to fool me into thinking he was almost alive; I'm surprised that he even had ribs to break. I'm grateful too, of course. It would've been like hacking away at a paper bag, otherwise. A paper bag that looked at you the whole time you tore it, quietly refusing to die, to even bleed after all your efforts.
I believe that man might be the Devil.
And yet, here he is. In my home, in my dead sister's bedroom, fast asleep. I don't want to kill him again, as strange as that sounds. I want to leave him alone for now- he needs time to rest. I don't think he resents me for this, otherwise he wouldn't trust me to take care of him.
There was no evidence left at the scene, as I've stated. The weapon used is in my back pocket, clean as the day I bought it, and the victim is alive and doing about as well as he could be. Perhaps... ah, perhaps I'm going mad. I'll speak to him when he wakes, whenever that will be. I should have enough time to send this to the post-office before then.
I love you, don't come home.
I killed a man tonight. I killed a man, and he did not die.
Indeed, this letter might be the only evidence there exists of my actions. I'm hesitant to even call them sins, if that's the word you're thinking of- and, perhaps if these letters reach you in the way I intend, you too will hesitate. The Politiet will be of no help, anyway. Not here. Not him.
He's resting in my sister's old room, now; almost as sickly as she used to be, though I doubt they'll meet the same end. I had to carry him here from the alley. Light as a feather, of course. A hollowed-out carcass of a man with enough waxen skin to fool me into thinking he was almost alive; I'm surprised that he even had ribs to break. I'm grateful too, of course. It would've been like hacking away at a paper bag, otherwise. A paper bag that looked at you the whole time you tore it, quietly refusing to die, to even bleed after all your efforts.
I believe that man might be the Devil.
And yet, here he is. In my home, in my dead sister's bedroom, fast asleep. I don't want to kill him again, as strange as that sounds. I want to leave him alone for now- he needs time to rest. I don't think he resents me for this, otherwise he wouldn't trust me to take care of him.
There was no evidence left at the scene, as I've stated. The weapon used is in my back pocket, clean as the day I bought it, and the victim is alive and doing about as well as he could be. Perhaps... ah, perhaps I'm going mad. I'll speak to him when he wakes, whenever that will be. I should have enough time to send this to the post-office before then.
I love you, don't come home.
- Vincent