For Rebecca ( An Original Short Story)

I am Lee Thomson, and today I've decided to end my life. A dramatic start for a suicide letter, you might think, but consider this as an expression of my anger at the cruel nature of life and the raw emotions it provokes, rather than a simple goodbye.

I was an art teacher in my small town, teaching middle school students. It wasn't a big town, so everyone knew each other. I loved my job, helping kids see beyond their imaginations, even as the sad reality of our nature forces us to grow up and lose that.

I remember the day I met Rebecca. She was shy and introverted but incredibly talented. She didn't have any friends in class, and I noticed she often kept to herself. I was concerned and asked the school counselor about her family. That's when I learned that her father had died in a car crash when she was just five, and her mother was working two jobs to support her. Because of her mother's busy schedule, Rebecca likely spent much of her time alone at home.

After learning this, I wanted to help Rebecca nurture her passion for art, hoping to bring some joy into her life. Life can be cruel, and that cruelty shapes who we become. I didn't want Rebecca to be defined by her pain. I wanted her to find happiness in art, to see the beauty in life despite its pain.

Art was my way of searching for happiness, and I wanted to share that with her. I began giving her special assignments and art supplies, encouraging her to explore her talent. After a month of working together, I suggested she enter a competition, and she eagerly agreed.

The competition's theme was "Showing Your True Identity," with a grand prize of $5,000 and a scholarship to high school. Rebecca was thrilled and asked me to come to her house to share the news with her mother. I was nervous. I wasn't sure how her mother would react to our close relationship. I arrived at their home after school. Her mother welcomed me warmly and sent Rebecca to her room to change. With teary eyes, she hugged me, catching me off guard.

"Thank you, Mr. Thomson. Thank you," she whispered, and I could feel her gratitude in those words. We sat in the living room and talked while Rebecca got ready. Her mother told me she hadn't seen her daughter this happy in a long time—not since her father had passed.

Rebecca soon joined us, and we shared a delightful dinner filled with laughter. When I left that night, I felt hopeful.

The next day, we submitted Rebecca's beautiful painting to the judges. A week later, an email arrived: she had won. I remember laughing and crying at the same time, overwhelmed with joy. I ran out of the teachers' room to tell Rebecca the good news. She smiled and said, "Thank you, Mr. Thomson. Thank you." We called her mother, and together we decided to celebrate with ice cream.

Before I got in the car, Rebecca hugged me one more time. As we drove, she asked if she could listen to some music. I remember her big smile and her sweet voice. Then my phone rang; it was her mother. I put it on speaker, and Rebecca joked, "We're on our way, Mother. Mr. Thomson drives like a turtle."

Then... it was all gone.

Those were the last words I heard before the truck hit us.

When I opened my eyes, I was lying on the side of the road, surrounded by people trying to talk to me. My head felt like it was spinning like a hurricane, and my left leg was in severe pain. I was screaming her name. Medics tried to calm me, but I couldn't stop.

"Where is she?" I yelled at an officer. He just looked at me with a dull face.

That's when I saw it: a small brown blanket with flower patterns, lying on the other side of the road. Beneath it, a tiny hand peeked out. Nearby, a woman was crying, clutching that small hand. It was Rebecca. She was gone.

I remember a crushing feeling. It felt as if the world had been pulled out from beneath me, leaving only an empty shell of a body. There was no sound, as if I had gone deaf. I couldn't feel any physical pain in my body, as if I had become senseless. Why her? Why did it have to be her?

Why is life so cruel to us? Why is there such hatred built into the source of creation? I refuse to bow to this merciless cycle of violence. I won't obey. She didn't deserve this.

Maybe my life doesn't matter in the grand scheme of the cosmos, but hers did. If there is a God, then surely He hates us. He shows no mercy, so I'll show none to this tormented soul. I don't deserve to live, and I won't.

I'm sorry, Rebecca. I'm sorry for making you believe that there could be justice and serene happiness in this cruel world. I'm so sorry.

To whoever finds this letter, I don't deserve a goodbye.

Sincerely,

Lee Thomson