Dear mother and sister,
Today is my sixteenth birthday and I am writing to you like I have for the past five years on my birthday. I know I will probably rip this up after I have written but I couldn't help myself, I am like that I suppose. I wonder if you remember having a son and if you are still recovering from the loss I made when I ran away.
I am at a place I have heard father talk about. I often dreamed about this place, where I was popular and strong. It's not how I once dreamed it would be. I am only here because I had nowhere to go after what happened with my big sister. I don't really have friends. I don't want to have friends. It would only cause heartbreak and misery if I did. You’re actually my step mother you know but I will always call you mother as I will call my real mother mum.
I wonder if you knew, if you knew what he did to me and if you approved of it. I certainly hope not. I wonder if I could have saved myself, though I was no match for him. I promised myself that I would get strong but I know every day I am only getting weaker. I wish I wasn't. Every time I so much as cough, people stare at me, ready to catch me because of the disability. They think it’s an illness but I think of it as a disability, I always have.
People are kind to me as if they know what I am going through, but they don't. No one does, other than big sister, but she died of it. I have an older sister called Annabeth. She worries too much, worries about my health, my ability to be cruel, though I have to be, but I will never say why to her. She would worry even more if she did and she has enough on her mind.
But I love her, though I do not see her as big sisters replacement. She reminds me of her you know. They have that protectiveness over me that always bothered me. Annabeth, though I will never say this aloud, is amazing. She controlled 40 campers at the age of twelve including me. I have always heard about how difficult I was to be controlled.
I have been too nice. More and more people have come to care for me despite my cruelty. I could have been crueler I suppose. But I do not have the heart to be. I suppose I am still that boy that runs out into the pouring rain to save the bird with the broken wing, despite my hatred for the rain.
I hope you are well, and that sister is doing swell and not under the same cruelty that was given to me, and big sister when we turned seven. Is it true that you had twin boys? If it is, that is very good. I hope that they are good replacements of me, for you need no reminders of me and it is better for you to be kept busy and not notice my painful reminders.
I wonder if I could have saved myself from what had happened, if I could have saved my big sister, despite that it was he who did it. I wonder if you had ever tried to stop him or was it you that gave him the ideas? If I am wrong, then do forgive me, I am still trying to figure out why he did it, and am trying to find possible theories.
I am sorry mother, I am truly sorry for the pain I have caused for your family.
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