It is highly unusual for a person of my stature to be writing down stories, for most of the time it is I who dictates onto others to do writings for me. Alas, this is a personal tale however, filled with details of my life for which I feel my workers and the new people in my life would be horrified to know, so for once it is I who writes down the tales which you may read, if this letter is ever lucky enough to be read by your eyes and held in your hands, both of which I probably will not see again for a long time yet, due to circumstances I shall explain later. Once more, I am sorry for this, but this is the way it had to be; who knows what could have happened if I stayed in that place. But let us not depart from the original reason as to why I am leaving you this letter with such personal information, I shall continue and do my best to not stray away henceforth.

As you knew well, I was not born from the seed of the man we called father – I was adopted, by what at first I saw as a gentle, loving family. When I was told at the orphanage that someone wanted me, I was ecstatic. A large smile came across my face as I pondered over the opportunities I might encounter in this new family, who I was told was very wealthy and prominent. I didn’t have much of a chance to get to know this family, as I just imagined that any residence would be better than the orphanage, where the food was leftovers from the owners; the floors we slept on were wet and dirty; mice and rats infested the place; and the worst of all: the sounds of each child crying over having to live in that miserable place is something that has lived with me to this day – nothing will make me forget about the torment and depressiveness of those sounds. As of writing this letter, I still hear those sounds wherever I go.

On the eve of my 6th birthday I was taken out of the hellhole and was told that ‘my’ family had come to pick me up. My new family, that is. As I was put into the car, I felt like luxury. I had never experienced being in a car before, it was new and exciting. The thrill of going past sites, houses and people at a fast speed, it was incredible. I thought that only rich people could afford cars, until I came across the many streets where I found that the majority of families owned one; and now I was part of one of those families. After driving for what felt like only minutes, we went into the driveway of a giant mansion. It was incredible; it seemed to be the exact opposite of the orphanage. While the orphanage was dark, grey and lifeless, this mansion was bright, colourful and lively. It was hard to believe how I had been lucky enough to be chosen and brought from the abyss into this place of beauty and wonder.

My first week in the house was an ‘adjustment’ period, and the man we called father knew this. He tried so hard to make it as comfortable as possible for me in this new house: giving me special foods, buying me whatever I wanted, it was all new to me. I had never had the opportunity to get what I want, but more importantly, I had never received this kind of warmth from another person before. I almost resorted to tears of joy each night as I thought about the day that past, thinking about how everything that lay ahead could only be better. Much to my dismay, this display of generosity didn’t last very long, for after a month had passed, the monster within this master of this new life of mine started to show; while this house seemed very lively and warm on the outside, it started to feel very cold and bleak on the inside, with the father of ours, slowly revealing himself for what he really was.

As I came home from my first day of school (which, just to clarify, was a prominent school for rich kids), I found the man I was now calling father on the phone as I walked through the door. He was yelling and drinking, for as I found out later, he had just lost all his money. As I continued on with my steps through the house, he noticed me, and quickly came over; smelling of what I now know is whiskey. He grabbed my arm with his cold hands, and proceeded to throw me around and beat me. All I could hear was a mixture of my screams along with the cries from the orphanage, mixing in with this abusive man who I could no longer recognise as my father yelling out words about me being a disgrace and how choosing me as his new son was the biggest mistake anyone could ever make. For it was that day, I found out, that our father lost his job, along with all his money and the mansion we were living in. However, my dear friend, you’re the one who came to my aid, quite possibly saving my life in the process. You came in and took half the beating too, which to this day, I am still grateful for. You, the person I am glad to call my sibling, came in and protected me, though we had not known each other very long. This is my debt to you I’ll never be able to repay.

After this incident, I remember sleeping at night in the mansion, knowing it would be our last night, hearing the screams from the orphanage as it felt as if I was suffering like those back at what might be considered my ‘real’ home. You came over to me, limping, and told me that we were leaving. I was filled with a sense of fear for what might happen if we were caught, but also a fear of what might happen if we were not to escape from the beast. I followed you out as we ran off, on a journey to somewhere which wasn’t that place of horrors. As we made it out the front door, the sounds of the beast started to cause panic; in trying to escape, we had awoken him. We both ran off in separate directions, hoping to cause a stir, but in a panic, he grabbed you instead – you were seemingly the more important one; his own flesh and blood. I couldn’t go back for you; I hope you know, as I was too cowardly to do so. I knew my chance of survival was to get out, which is why I wrote this letter.

Twenty-five years, it may seem like a very long time, for it is, but it was not until now I was sure it would be safe to attempt to reconcile! I saw news last week that the beast had died, and I knew at once it would quite possibly be my only chance to apologise to you. So, my dear sibling, I hope you understand while reading this, that I shall try my best to get my revenge on the beast of so long ago, and that the only way of achieving this, is by killing you and myself, and meeting him in the afterlife where we can truly have our revenge. It is the only way. I’m sorry.