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True horror cannot be found through blood-sucking vampires, the walking dead, serial killing clowns or any other creature that disgusts the mind.

No.

True horror is finding out that life is not as it seems. That life was just some sick game or coincidence, of which you were just a helpless pawn.

I discovered this for myself close to four months ago, when everything changed.

Before four months ago, I was a very successful stock broker. I had private bank accounts with thousands upon thousands dollars in them, earning enough interest that I could live off it. And the future still held more, if I kept on rising in promotions like I had.

Now I wander the streets, begging the very type of people that I used to work with for money.  I loathe myself every time I extend my tin pot and ask for spare change. I use to be a wealthy stock broker, why should I have to ask for people’s spare change.

I had a beautiful fiancée, Jasmine. She had a gorgeous personality; funny, witty and intelligent that just naturally complemented her ravishing figure and face. We would lie awake at night, staring at the stars above, dreaming out loud of our future together.

Now I take shelter under bridges, sleeping alone in the dust and the dirt, stuffing newspaper down my clothes to fight off the cold is constantly nipping away at me. I could go elsewhere, but what type of successful man queues the whole afternoon for just simple bed at a homeless shelter… I am ashamed of what I have become. Of who I have become.

I had many quality friends that I had made before my stock broking days, upon whom I could always rely on for quality advice and good friendship. We would go on fishing trips, hikes, long camping trips out into the wilderness. They were always there for me, and I for them.

Now the best company that I have is the lice that nest in my unwashed hair. The tics that painfully dig their way into my skin. The fleas that jump around in the rags that I call clothes. Anybody that tries to be friendly to me, I drive away. They could never even begin to replace the friends that I used to have… The friends who were like family to me.

My life truly was perfect. Though, looking back it now, maybe my life was too perfect. Too unreal.

Maybe that’s what made me wake up four long months ago.

Wake up from a 46 year long coma.

46 years, 8 months and 4 days.

My whole life; stock broking, Jasmine, amazing friends, it had all just been a dream. A 46 year long dream.

None of it had ever happened.

The people that I had loved, befriended, hurted, hated, helped, envied, persevered with.

None of them had ever existed.

When I woke up, the doctor eventually told me that I was the only son of wealthy parents, parents that paid handsomely for the best care available for their 8 year old son who fell off a tree, hit his head on a rock and went into a deep coma.

The doctor’s words brought back faint memories, faint inclinations of déjà vu.

The doctor continued the tale. Years had turned into decades and I still never woke up. My wealthy parents had become not so wealthy anymore. My father began working two jobs just to keep up with the cost of my upkeep. A few years later after that, while working a night shift, he had had a heart attack and died.

I had killed my father.

It’s wasn’t your fault, the doctors and therapists told me.

They lied.

It was and still is my fault.

My mother, distraught at the thought of living life alone in her old age ; the love of her life dead, her only son still in a coma after decades, wrote a will bequeathing all the money that was left to keeping me on life support. And then without so much as leaving a note of farewell, she tied a rope to the ceiling and swayed and jerked to its rhythm until her body hang limp.

I had killed both my father and my mother.

It’s wasn’t your fault, the doctors and therapists told me.

They lied.

It was and still is my fault.

So, to whomever finds and reads this note, do not despair for me. For I have decided that I will finally escape from this horror that is my life. I will be free from this hell that I can endure no longer.

My freedom will be death. A rope tied tight to my neck, my limp body swaying gently to an unheard rhythm.

.

.

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I would have liked to hold Jasmine one last time, though… To kiss her and tell her everything will be okay…

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