Benjamin.
Just something I wrote quickly and felt like sharing.
December 4th, 1984
Benjamin,
Stop. Look up, gaze at the stars in the sky. You die. Your family mourns and eventually they get over it. Sorry. That’s just the way it is. It’s a horrible thing to even suggest, that Death is that simple, but quite frankly, I’m not the sugar coating type. You’re going to croak a year from now, and your family is going to come to the funeral, cry a bit, then walk away from you and never think about you again. This is because you’ve succumbed to the drugs. You’ve succumbed to cocaine, heroin, ecstasy, and valium. You decided that doing drugs was more important than your family, and that was wrong. Drugs are important, sure, but taken at the correct dosage, or with friends who can carry you to bed, so you don’t go through what happened to you.
You croaked, Benjamin. You died a painful, excruciating death and it was something you deserved. You sat there on your stain ridden couch and shot heroin into a main artery in your left arm, if you were a rook you would’ve died instantly, but you were a pro, you shot up and then when you began to feel your heart beat accelerate you picked up your rotary phone and dialed your former household.
When your wife answered she sounded happy, she remarried, she had another child, she had begun to forget your ever existed. Ben, you ruined her life, twice now. I suppose it was the right thing to do though, calling your ex-wife to tell her you were going to die. Tell her to lie to your son about your addictions, why you left, and then in a few years when he was older tell him the truth. Tell your son the truth, tell Michael the truth. Tell him that his father was a drug addict and had four-thousand dollars to his name to live on for the rest of his life. Four-thousand dollars that was spent on H, X, and crack. Allow Michael to hate you, to loathe you for what you’ve done to his life. He’ll grow up, raise a child, become something you never were: a father.
Benjamin, stay with me for a moment longer, before you descend into Hell, tell me, was it worth it? All the things you’ve done in your life ruined by drugs. Ruined by injecting, snorting, and puffing. You say that you don’t know. You say that you’re confused by the question, but it’s evident that you’re stoned and believe that I’m speaking Latin, however, I’m speaking English.
You don’t deserve to go to Heaven, Ben. You don’t deserve to see Our Father who art in Heaven, you don’t deserve to see his face and lie to him again. You don’t get to take back lying to Our Father on his death bed. I will not allow it. You’ve sinned and now you’ve perished, you’ve left a family and all because you denied help. You wouldn’t let me help you, Benjamin. Therefore you’re dead.
Sincerely,
Father James Kirkland.
Thanks,
JD
December 4th, 1984
Benjamin,
Stop. Look up, gaze at the stars in the sky. You die. Your family mourns and eventually they get over it. Sorry. That’s just the way it is. It’s a horrible thing to even suggest, that Death is that simple, but quite frankly, I’m not the sugar coating type. You’re going to croak a year from now, and your family is going to come to the funeral, cry a bit, then walk away from you and never think about you again. This is because you’ve succumbed to the drugs. You’ve succumbed to cocaine, heroin, ecstasy, and valium. You decided that doing drugs was more important than your family, and that was wrong. Drugs are important, sure, but taken at the correct dosage, or with friends who can carry you to bed, so you don’t go through what happened to you.
You croaked, Benjamin. You died a painful, excruciating death and it was something you deserved. You sat there on your stain ridden couch and shot heroin into a main artery in your left arm, if you were a rook you would’ve died instantly, but you were a pro, you shot up and then when you began to feel your heart beat accelerate you picked up your rotary phone and dialed your former household.
When your wife answered she sounded happy, she remarried, she had another child, she had begun to forget your ever existed. Ben, you ruined her life, twice now. I suppose it was the right thing to do though, calling your ex-wife to tell her you were going to die. Tell her to lie to your son about your addictions, why you left, and then in a few years when he was older tell him the truth. Tell your son the truth, tell Michael the truth. Tell him that his father was a drug addict and had four-thousand dollars to his name to live on for the rest of his life. Four-thousand dollars that was spent on H, X, and crack. Allow Michael to hate you, to loathe you for what you’ve done to his life. He’ll grow up, raise a child, become something you never were: a father.
Benjamin, stay with me for a moment longer, before you descend into Hell, tell me, was it worth it? All the things you’ve done in your life ruined by drugs. Ruined by injecting, snorting, and puffing. You say that you don’t know. You say that you’re confused by the question, but it’s evident that you’re stoned and believe that I’m speaking Latin, however, I’m speaking English.
You don’t deserve to go to Heaven, Ben. You don’t deserve to see Our Father who art in Heaven, you don’t deserve to see his face and lie to him again. You don’t get to take back lying to Our Father on his death bed. I will not allow it. You’ve sinned and now you’ve perished, you’ve left a family and all because you denied help. You wouldn’t let me help you, Benjamin. Therefore you’re dead.
Sincerely,
Father James Kirkland.
Thanks,
JD
posted by JD at 9:15 PM
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