My time has run out. All the lies I've spun and the tales I've told have stopped doing their job. The Savior will be patient no longer, he will have me at the next festival or he will kill me, but my clever words can't protect me. The lust he has had for me since I was barely and a woman will not be held off any longer and I'm not sure if I can bring myself to end my own life to avoid it.
I should be sorry, Mom. I should be sorry that I'm a liar and a coward and a thief. I should be sorry that I've become everything you never wanted me to and that I practically embody every trait you hated about Father and the outside world, but I'm not. I cannot bring myself to be sorry when you taught me no better.
When you ran away from your problems and uprooted me in the process, you proved yourself a coward. When you told me life would be better here, that I would be safe, you proved yourself a liar. And when you were found dead in your cabin by your own hand, you ripped away any happiness I had left and you proved yourself a thief. You were no better than the people who drove us here, and then you left me alone to suffer at their hands.
I am not sorry. I will never be sorry. I do not care if I am to die alone or in pain or at my own hand. You have doomed me to this life, to the choices I must make. If anyone is to blame for who I became and what I must do, it is you. When I die, if there is an afterlife and you were not sent to heaven while I am doomed to hell, do not think you can judge me for all the terrible things I have done.
And if I am to admit one final thing mom, it is that I am scared. The Savior tells us not to fear death and that it is only a gateway to the everlasting peace of heaven. I do not know that I fear death, but I know that I fear dying. I fear pain and the experiences that I have not had a chance to live ripped from my grasp. I fear the end of my life and maybe I do fear what comes afterward.
I am scared, Mom, and I hate you for leaving me to deal with this on my own.