Young Writers Society

Jonathan opened the letter from Grant, his dead friend. He found it under his table a day after Grant’s death. ‘To Jonathan, My Insensitive Friend - From Your Hurt Friend, Grant’ was written on the pristine white letter. Inside it was a paper folded into two. He unfolded it. Emily and Harrison watched him, waiting for what their best friend wrote to him.

Grant wasn’t his best friend. They met this year after five years of separation, and they weren’t even close. When they were twelve, he liked to tease Grant, and Grant usually didn’t retaliate. He did once, eventually, but it wasn’t taken seriously. When they met again, however, they suddenly became good friends. Grant relied personal information on him.

Sitting at his place in the class, which was quiet because school was over, he read the letter out loud. “To my friend, Grant,” he said, Emily closing in to hear him better. Harrison folded his arms, waiting expectantly for the next words.

“When you read this letter, you know I’m dead already. And I really didn’t mean it to be this way. If there’s someone who would resort to suicide, I’m not him. I may feel suicidal - frustrations, depression, they do that to you - but I would never commit suicide because I don’t want to miss so much wonders in this world. I know what lies ahead of me, what’s stored for me.

And then you arrived. You, who used to be this fat bully, and now had a neat beard, Robert Pattinson’s curly hair, and that gorgeous hazel eyes. You still look big, but you aren’t fat. Not unless I pinch your stomach, of course. I would feel your fat if I do that. But yeah. You arrived in an appearance so much better from the last time. And you aren’t acting like a jerk. In fact, you know religious stuffs.

Then again, that religious side of you should be expected because you come from a family that is quite known for that. Not that I care, though. I care about how you advise me religiously on what I should and shouldn’t do. I appreciate that because that means you look after me, although you don’t really do much, actually.

After some time, though, I can see the remnants of the old you. You know, you were great when you listened to me talking about my brother. He is sixteen, and only now do I know he smokes. And he started smoking last year. How could I miss that? If only my father didn’t check his school trousers, we would never know. But you listened. That was nice.

You know why I’m telling you this, right?” Jonathan stopped. He looked at Emily and Harrison. “I think it’s better for me to read this alone. This is for me, after all.” He held the paper down.

“Oh no, you aren’t going to do that,” Emily said, grabbing Jonathan’s arm and holding the paper up for him to read. “We didn’t know Grant was going to commit suicide, but we did know he wrote a letter to you. He told me that, and he wanted you to read it out loud in front of us.”

“B-but -” Jonathan stopped after seeing Harrison’s glare at him. It wasn’t expectant like before - the gleam in his eyes was total fury.

“He has shared some stuffs with me, you know,” Harrison said in a low voice. “Read it.”

Jonathan gulped, and he knew he had no choice but to continue reading and stumbling into something he really didn’t want to see. He looked at the paper. “If you’re conveniently forget about this, then I’ll remind you. You know about the Whatsapp group, right? It’s created by Daniel, the guy I secretly have a crush but won’t notice me. Anyway, it’s for the boys of the school, which aren’t much given at this point, students at our age would prefer to study in college or something.

My other secret crush, William, posted something about these Japanese people who didn’t smoke a lot, and in fact thought it would be disrespectful to smoke in public. He said something about us following them, and that kind of bullshit. He said when were we going to be like those Japaneses. I just loled, because let see.

The Japaneses weren’t like us, I said. They were brought up with discipline, bowed down every time they met someone they respected, and said “Thank you” every time someone did something to them. We weren’t raised like that. That was why I said to just banned cigarettes. If we wanted to overcome the problem, we needed to do something drastic. But he said it would just allow illegal transfer of them.

And he was right, but it was better than talking with them about cigarettes. Talks, all those words, they weren’t going to affect them, and we should know better. I mean, how many times they produced shows and songs to ban these things - drugs, cigarettes, vape - and they were all futile. Oh, and I told him I was in a debate team once and said how dare he wanted to debate with me and he said game on.

And I like our conversation, actually. It’s the longest we have, the two of us.

And then someone said how lame. I didn’t know who or what he was talking to, but I’m pretty sure it’s directed to me. I don’t mind. In fact, I replied with a thanks. You know me. Sometimes sarcasm works better than direct insult. But then, you know what happened next? Oh, of course you do, you’re in the group too.

You butted in and mocked me, saying even I didn’t know how to take care of my brother.

I replied with a big thanks, friend, and left the group. You acted like nothing happened.”

“Terrible,” Emily said, her low voice giving goosebumps to Jonathan. “You’re insensitive; no, you’re heartless. Truly heartless - why didn’t we see that before?”

Harrison’s eyes were still on him. “Keep reading,” he said in a calm voice, which scared Jonathan more, because he knew Harrison had the tendency to suddenly explode.

“But that wasn’t the reason I committed suicide, of course. That is still something small. After some times of me not talking to you, I talked to you again. This time, I talked lesser than before, but I talked, nonetheless. Which means we were still friends. And since I’ve been sharing my personal information with you, I thought why the hell not? I should better share this with you.

I told you I was gay.

You were disgusted, totally disgusted. You spouted some religious bullshits, talked about how being gay was a major sin, and just plainly insulted me. Okay, to make it clear, I don’t have problems with people who think being gay is a sin - sometimes I think it is - as long as they still treat me as a human. If they want to convert me, they shouldn’t do it forcefully, they should do it gently. I’m up for it.

But you didn’t try to convert me. You did something worse. Guys, I think I should stop here,” Jonathan said, his voice pleading. His hands and shoulders were trembling, and he couldn’t look at Emily and Harrison.

“No. Keep reading. We don’t know about this,” Harrison said, starting to lean towards Jonathan. “Don’t make me mad.” His breath tickled Jonathan’s ears.

“Y-you p-push,” Jonathan stopped, taking a deep, shuddering breath. His eyes glassy. “You pushed me to the wall, shouting at me how I was a faggot. You said it was no use for me to keep living, because you said I’d rather been fucked by some horny faggots. You said that. I didn’t believe it coming out from your mouth, but when you did that thing... I started to realize you were a different person.

You unzipped your pants and pullet out your cock. You pushed my head downward so that it leveled with your cock, and you pushed my head toward it. You forced me to suck it like a faggot I was. I cried, you pulled my hair, and yelled again about sucking your cock. Finally, I did. I did, and it didn’t feel good at all. When you started to cum, you didn’t pull it out. You forced me to eat it.

I thought you were done by then. I was mistaken.

You turned me around and took off my pants. You shoved your cock into my butt. All this time, you yelled about how faggot I was acting like, and you were enjoying it though you sounded mad. You were enjoying fucking me, raping me. I told you to stop. I said it relentlessly, I never stopped. But you didn’t stop, and you just continued what you did. After you were done, you left me in the class with a couple of punches in the face.

I didn’t tell anyone about this. Not even Emily or Harrison. But they’ll find out, because you’re going to read this in front of them, aren’t you? And that’s the reason why I commit suicide. I couldn’t bear studying with a monster, getting near a monster, a monster who disguised itself as my friend. I should’ve known how insensitive you consistently became, and how you weren’t supposed to be my friend.

You are the reason I died, and I hope I’ll see you in hell. Other than that, suffer living. Because you are going to pay for this.

Sincerely hurt,

Grant”

Harrison snatched the paper from Jonathan, and held it up for him to see. “I’m going to pass this to the police. Grant’s right - you’re going to pay for what you’ve done.”

“No!” Jonathan said, trying to take the paper from Harrison’s hands. He couldn’t, however. Harrison was too tall for him, and Harrison pushed him away.

“Wow, Jonathan. Just wow,” Emily said. “I know you’re such an ass, but I don’t know you can be a trash. Seriously. You’re such a coward. Let’s go, Harrison.” She grabbed Harrison’s shoulder, and they left the class.

Jonathan stayed there, finally crying, defeated. He shouldn’t do it, but he wasn’t thinking at that time. He was just not in the mood to listen Grant’s story. He just found out his sister was having sex with her boyfriend. His underaged sister with some tattooed brat. It was no excuse, he knew. But what else could he do? He just thought Grant being gay was the right thing for him to be mad of.

It wasn’t. It wasn’t the right thing for him to be mad of.