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I'm writing this so that I can keep a bit of sanity...this is my suicide note...it's
the end for me...I just want this down so that others may see why death brings suffering...why
you can't let one person die in your life... My daughter got home from school at about
2 PM. Her being in a kindergarten class, they sent the little tykes home before the others.
I thought that I could get in an hour or two into some TV movies. I finished at around
1:40, and exactly after I turned the television off, a ring came at the door. I walked to
the door and saw a little girl with her mother, selling girl scout cookies. I happily bought
them and started to eat the Tagalongs (I gave the little girl a tip, when delivering cookies
in the heat of Florida, you have to have a bit of decency). About 25 minutes later, my
daughter got home. "Hello daddy!" she said, throwing herself on me. I chuckled and got
her some lunch. It was definitely a normal day. Until that night....
Added by Drumsandsticks At around 1:40 A.M. my daughter screamed bloody
***. I quickly jumped out of bed and ran to her room. I threw the door open, and saw
my daughter huddled up in a little ball on the corner of her bed. I grabbed her quickly
and turned the light on in her room. What I saw was completely chilling...I saw, written
in red paint on the wall: ***, GLUTTONY, GREED, SLOTH, WRATH, ENVY AND PRIDE; SINS
OF YOUR FOREFATHERS SINS YOU CAN'T HIDE. What the hell was that supposed to mean?! The seven
sins? My daughter started to hyperventilate, and
she started saying "daddydaddydaddydaddy" over and over again...I grabbed her asthma
inhaler and tried to give it to her, but she was so far into an asthma attack that she
really couldn't do much. I ran to my car with her and placed her in the back seat, and drove
as fast as I could to a nearby hospital. We were instantly admitted, and she was saved
from going into cardiac arrest...it turned out that my daughter at five had heart disease.
It was about seven years later (and during those seven years) that things started to
really get bad. It was Christmas time, I had a wife named Samantha, and a son named Gregory.
My daughter, Haley, was 12 years old, Greg was about 4. I was loving my life. The kids
were happy, Samantha and I were happy. It was great...except for the years previous...
The first year, all of the woman around me became aroused and flirted with me constantly.
You wanna know why that was bad? Because every one that I rejected killed themselves in some
horrid way...one gutted herself with a kitchen knife, and another hung herself from the gutter
on her house. The second year, my daughter became infatuated with food, so much that
her heart condition worsened. She was rushed to the hospital over 10 times during the course
of the year...but when the year was up, she became anorexic, and stopped eating much altogether.
The third year, my house went into foreclosure, and I became very stingy with money and food.
We later found out that the landowner of our house still had rights to our land, and was
stealing money out of my credit card for two years. I'm lucky that I met Samantha, and
she let my daughter and I move into her home. We married in December, and had my son in
October.
The fourth year, I was called by many talent agencies, asking about my amazing singing
skills, which I had shown off when I sat in with a band a month before the year started.
The thing is, when I said no, they would keep calling me and calling, until they became
violent, calling me foul names. One of them even tried to kill me right outside my house.
He shot at me with a handgun and clipped my ear.
The fifth year, I became inexplicably angry at my daughter and wife for everything. I
became abusive in the month of December, but in that same month, I fell down the stairs
and suffered brain damage, but so little damage that it gave me little memory of the year
past. I can only recall this because my daughter told me about it.
The sixth year, my daughter became jealous of my son, getting all the attention. But
I tried to tell her that babies need more attention than ten-year-olds. She became angry
and violent. She eventually ran away. I called the Center For Missing And Exploited Children.
They found her in the abandoned house next to us, hiding in one of the closets. She was
starving, and eventually kicked her anorexia.
It was the seventh year now, and nothing had really happened at all. That is until that
night...at exactly 1:40 AM that the *** hit the fan. I heard my daughter scream, a bloodcurdling
scream. I quickly ran to her room, and saw something that broke my heart and terrified
me...a man stood looking at her bed, holding a sleek knife...he grabbed her and...ripped
her open with the blade...oh god...it's hard to even think about it...but he took all that
remained of her...Jesus Christ...I was so proud of her...my baby...
It's the eighth year now...my wife left me, my son barely knows me...and I curse myself
every day. My late wife, who beared my daughter...I now know that it was you who gave me this
curse. You always hated me...I couldn't save you...I never could...and you hate me for
it. So now...I end it all...
Hello, this is Gregory, the boy in the story. I'm 36 now, and I was given this note from
the police about a year ago. This suicide note was written by my father back in 1980.
I was only five years old. When my mother got the news about my father, she cried for
about an hour. I was alone too...and it wasn't until ten years later that my mother gave
me the real story. She cried crocodile tears when she heard the
news. The only emotion she harbored for my dad was hate. See, my father did all of those
horrible things you see in the story. My father went insane at 1:40 AM in 1973, the date of
his first wife and his anniversary. The psychologist he saw when his wife died suspected that his
wife's death was all his fault. He created an excuse, and based his so-called 'revenge'
on the seven deadly sins.
The night of his wife's anniversary, he gave his daughter a shot of steroids, which gave
her the heart condition.
He killed every woman who flirted with him for one year, making their deaths look like
suicides.
The second year, he stuffed his daughter full of food, making her eat the largest portions.
He became upset that it did not kill her, so he made her throw up her food after every
meal when the year was up.
The third year, he sold his house, and let my mom use money from his credit card. He
also became abusive for many years after.
The fourth year, he claimed that he was the most talented singer ever, calling talent
agencies and such. When they turned him down, he would call them foul names, and one man
he even tried to kill. He shot at the man right outside of his studio, clipping him
in the ear.
The fifth year, he tried to kill my mom and late sister many times, but my mother retaliated,
pushing him down the stairs. He had acquired short term memory loss and couldn't remember
much about that month.
The sixth year, he drove my sister out of the house, calling her 'stupid ***' or '***
***'. She hid in the house next door when my father called a lost child agency. The
forensics team quickly turned her back into our house, which my mother frequently called
'Hell'.
The seventh year, my dad was very tame. He became a very nice man, happy, and was proud
of his behavior, until 1:40 A.M. On the night of his wife's anniversary, he killed my sister
with a kitchen knife and fled with her remains to the Bahamas. I still cannot believe it
to this very day, and at the beginning of the eighth year, he killed himself.
The police force says that it was suicide, he created a makeshift noose out of organic
material.
They all lie, because I know the rope was my sister.