Eight: Read this Letter When You're Eighteen

   I stand above the waterfall, my body weak, as blood drips down my fingers, splattering the gray rocks. The bottle of bleach, sitting in the dirt, the sleeping pills spilled across the lush grass, three fourths of the bottle in me, the other fourth partially crushed beneath my feet. I write sloppily on the stationary, my vision blurry, the realization that I have yet to write you my last letter before I leave...
   I've contemplated leaving before, not just you, not this town or Pittsburgh or any other city or person, but Earth, indefinitely... Don't believe that this is an irrational whimsy brought on by the anniversary of the announcement...
   I have been in and out of the mental hospital, ehem, they do not favor that term, they prefer psychiatric hospital, for over a decade and a half, Mr. Linus Levanoid paying them to keep me locked up, the voices aiding me on how to trick them into releasing me, aiding me on how to trick Linus into believing I am healthy.
   I attempted to do this before, on the first anniversary of me leaving you... I had to leave you; I don't think you understand how hard it is for me to have written every single letter. My attempt failed, for Linus, the bastard, found me... I didn't want to leave you, but I could never see you again and stupid, dumb, idiot the voices keep telling me, keep saying, I couldn't hold on. He sent me to the hospital. They said stop doing anything triggering, so I couldn't write to you. The one thing that kept the voices at bay, kept me thinking perhaps I had sanity, gone... For years, I lost count, they kept me there, drugged up. No one knew who I was; I refused to speak, I gave them a false name.
   Do not search for me, do not research my past, it is too painful for me and it will only cause more pain. This is only to give you closure. I know that everyone needs that.
   When you were three, I left you, strapped into your car seat, left you, well... I feel my heart slowing. I will skim over the details, for me am writing with borrow timme u were put into the foster care system, i ensured that, then i left the city, the state, to a county named after one of the greatlakes
   hem he, he is them, release from prison; they didn't even punish him with what he deserved, with what he did... bit under 3years, he stayed behind bars and me did not fear, me knew he would not come back And they were releasing him i knew nothing about him, only his name. blocked what his face looks like from my memory.
you. u not... i think i vomit... feel sick... dizzy this may be end i have more to sayy to you i dont know what tio say i love you and i know that you are reading this when you arent 18 you are about twentythree byut i though i start treadition iun our family
we write leeteer to one child even though i only have one child and they read it when they turn eighteeen i cant ai cant i have more buyt im shaking and the blood the bloodi sign it i puy the with love so that way if i dont finsih at aleast it seem doen and i tell you my realy name soi maybe you know who your mother was

with love,
e

Next Generation's First Chapter