Dear acquaintance,
The woman with whom I was speaking informed me that you would be a considerate person to whom I could confide in my innermost thoughts. She had used the word "friend," though we ahve not properly met, and therefore I have no desire to face unnecessary labels on someone I have not properly met. I wish to remain anonymous in this pen-on-paper encounter. I shall refer to those I talk about with generic names so my identity is thus concealed from you.
Honestly (and I have been told that I should be honest for the full effect of my writing to you), I take great comfort in the fact that people such as yourself exist, and that you (or at least pretend to) care.
So this is my life. I think you should know that I feel conflicted in the sense that I constantly experience two contrasting emotions at once.
I try to consider my family being the reason for me...being the way that I am, though I find that improbable. Thinking this way causes me to relive the moment last spring when my classmates and I heard the sorrowful voice of our headmaster on the loudspeaker.
"Boys and girls, I regret to inform you that one of our students has passed on. We will hold a memorial service for Victor Trevor during assembly this Friday."
The (incorrectly labeled) rumour said that Victor had committed suicide. Incorrectly labeled, I say, because it was true.
Unfortunately, I have little to no recollection of that day except that my older brother, Mycroft, came to the office to fetch me at my secondary school and told me to stop crying. Then, he consoled me and told me to "get it out of my system" before my father returned home from work. Wouldn't like to see his son crying, I suppose. A sign of weakness. Utter rubbish.
The guidance counselors said that Victor killed himself because of family problems at home and he had no one to talk to. He could have talked to me. At Victor's funeral, I sat in silence wondering why his father did not seem sad. He left Vic's mother three months after that, no surprise there. It was bound to happen. Family problems. Likely that this was a contributing factor to Victor's suicide. I miss him.
I highly doubt that such drama could ever occur within my household. My mother and father show no signs of conflict between them. They appear to feel no differently towards me as they do Mycroft. I know that my aunt Martha loves me very dearly. She is the only person I've ever cared for. She was my mum's sister. She always gave me these books to read, which (aside from the violin) was my favourite thing to do. My dear Aunt Martha lived with my family for the last few years of her life.
Except that's not why I'm writing to you today. I just wanted to...this is rather odd, but I needed...comfort. It's quite late (for me) and I should at least pretend to get some sleep. I begin school tomorrow morning at a brand new school. I think I am nervous.
-Sherlock