Letters from the hospital

It had been years since John had set his eyes upon anything naturally lit – sunlight had become his enemy. For years, he had laid silently resting, waiting. His parents had tried to help – encouraged him to see a doctor, get medication, obtain treatment… but no doctor, no medication, no treatment, no therapy would lift the weights that held him down, that had taken hold and maintained the tightest grips on his body and mind.
Where once John had engaged in friendship and loyalty, he felt only misery in being alone – no friend could feel what he felt. Where once he felt hatred for others and the world, he despised only his own body, his own mind. Even those who had once cared for him and loved him the most – his family, his parents – seemed to care less and less by the day, by the hour, by the minute.
But this was all to change. Misery was to be silenced. Hatred that had grown over this eternity was now to be put to use. With his body would die pain, would die desperation and would forever die this cursed mind.

When the opportunity presented itself, when all who would oppose his actions had taken leave on his safety, John, for the first time, rose from his prison. He dressed himself in clothes far too tight for lack of use for far too long and he left what had been his home for so long barefoot. No shoes he owned would now fit his grotesquely overgrown and disfigured feet.
The light was blinding – his eyes had not been exposed to the world in so long. His flesh burned to the heat of a world that had long ago forgotten him, and as he walked, his softened feet cut against the roughness of a trail they had not met before. John welcomed the pain as one final punishment to his body before it met its end.
Still trapped within the confines of a tortured mind, John saw no scenery, heard no people, felt not the breeze that blew across him. His surroundings were meaningless, as always they had been. Nothing retained meaning in the face of death. His legs and feet moved only out of desire to cease movement forever.
Cut, bleeding, sore and at the verge of tears, John approached his destination – the bridge. As he crossed towards the center of the immense structure, John felt his stomach begin to twist. An unexpected sense of fear began to sweep over him.
He turned towards the harbour. Tall steel poles of restriction rose above the edge of the bridge, preventing him from jumping. Tears of frustration formed and left shimmering trails of anger down his face. After all these years, after all this pain, he was to be denied his final escape, his final glimpse of hope.
John turned towards the bridge. For whatever reason, similar structures did not exist blockading his path onto the bridge itself. Another knot formed in John’s stomach. He thought for a moment, and a moment passed.
Nothing mattered.
John climbed over the rail separating the walking path from the road. He took one final breath, closed his eyes and hurled himself into the path of an oncoming truck.