I know it’s been a while since you saw your dear husband’s face. I can imagine how nonchalantly you’ve traded your cheeks for those comely tears o’yours, how old you’ve suddenly become. I know these things.
There are things you learn, some you just know when behind three immovable walls of a hard-hitting prison. Some things you master when
the probability of seeing a sunny day becomes surreal, when your favorite companions are filigreed bars reminding you of the falsity of the word: free-will. Of the brevity of life, the possibility of
immortality and the reality of eternity.
Oh, forgive my uncivility. I’m John Akin. I like that you pause here and send me more curses. This part of my life is done for, anyway. My name has surely become a popular word in your bitter vocabulary. That
makes me a hero. Curse me more. Please.
That said, hear me. Yes, I killed him. I killed Benjamin and I’m in prison for that. Senseless. He’s dead, his world is cut, I’m happy. Who cares about being boxed into a square wall or any goddamn
Your Benjamin was a strong man, spritely and full of ‘virtue’, as you tell the media. Most unfortunate of all, he was my friend. Damn, I called him a friend. My mistake. For all the sacrifice I made for him, he repayed me by defiling my sister. A virtuous man, indeed. He betrayed me. I killed him (you shouldn’t miss that video of how I
plucked his eyes and searched his bowels with my fork. My dear fork!).
Now, the world is free. Heaven is pleased, I’m sure. I write this not out of obligation; a soon-to-be hanged prisoner has not much to say,
anyway. I write this to tell you that though I’ll be hanged tomorrow, I’ll be back to complete the rites of my revenge. What your Benjamin cost me can only be recompensed by more of his blood on my hands. I beseech you, dear, curse me liberally, but I’ll be back.
For his son. Your son.
Look at the cot, at that tiny thing. Look him in his eyes. Look him
carefully. One day I’ll return to send a fork through those eyes, hear his ocular membrane pop and serve it on my china like I did his father’s. Divine delicacy.
As he grows, warn him about the certain brevity of his life. I’ll
surely be back. For that curse from your Benjamin’s loins.
Send him my ruddy kisses, witch.