Theo,
I didn't think my life could get any worse, now that, finally, I had – almost – managed to heal from the pain our separation caused me. I have taken to heart my own needs and my own promises: with the Laytons' reply, I understood I could be moving on from my old life, that it didn't mean I would forget you. After all, I could only do so much to feel better.
Yet, it appears I was wrong. Events got in the way, events I could not foresee. I was thrown in a chaos I'd hoped I would not have to go through once again. Once again, I remembered why everything was better when we were still living together with Father and Mother. No matter how loud I could scream, no matter how many tears rolled down my cheeks, no matter how desperate I was, nothing couldever come back to the way it was before you were taken away from me.
All that was needed was one laugh. Then, there were two or three comments, every now and then. Afterwards, there started to be one, then two, five, ten fingers pointed at me. And everything became constant. It was as if it had always existed. I couldn't really tell whether it came from a nightmare, or if it was my life that had always been thus – a waking nightmare that would never end. The regularity of the harassment I was forced to suffer led to a throwback to my old life. The nightmares resurfaced, and with it all mychildish fears. Whenever one child starts laughing at me, I feel like I'm trapped in a dark place, clinging to the edges. For one moment, I hope someone is going to save me. The next second, a child pushes me down the pit, and I can't stop falling while everyone around me just stands there and laughs incessantly.
As the pen slips on the paper, I can't help but call these people 'childs'… Are they really? Are we still children? I don't believe we are. They are all 15, so why are there some people out there who are still capable of behaving in this manner? Why are people so mean to each other? Why does evil rule in this world? Maybe that's the reason why Father had to leave us. Evil triumphs whatever good people do. Evil controls men's souls, and being pure and good does nothing. I could vow to fight against evil the rest of my life, but young children put me in a situation where I'm forced to question the value of my purpose.
Even so, it is hard to understand. Why did everything suddenly start to collapse? When I was still a young boy attending primary school, people were good. Back in year five, I even had some friends – to whom I had to lie about our family. They never saw through my lies, but they were still my friends. All of them still had the chance to enjoy their childhood, because their innocence was not yet stolen from them like it was from me. In spite of that, they could never have behaved in such a disgraceful way.
When I entered in year seven, it started to get difficult. I felt lonely as I was growing up without my friends, without my parents, and without you. It fell apart when the Sycamores came to adopt me. Though they granted me a nice life, some events kept on being difficult. I was forced to change schools at the beginning of October last year, and that was a huge mistake. At the same time, I had to skip year nine – that was the decision taken unanimously by my teachers back in my old school. A decision that started the nightmare in which I'm in right now.
In my previous letters, I never mentioned this harassment. I'd hoped it would be over soon, so I tried to erase it from my mind. I wanted everything to look beautiful, I wanted you to truly believe that I was able to overcome all this pain, if you ever had to hold these letters in your hands. For it to look real, I tried to convince myself that the only thing still standing in the way of my happiness was our separation. Sadly, it was not. I am way too much of an outsider to them: my classmates refuse to accept me. Though I am now in year eleven, nothing has changed. I am still odd, awkward, shady, creepy, useless – pathetic, even. These words keep on coming up every single time I walk in the room, every single time they are near me. And it spread to others: now, most of my classmates' friends that are in different classes joined them to laugh at me. What can I do about it, other than suffering in silence? I can't waste time by answering to them. I can't denounce them, either, because it would only get worse. I try to keep one of my purposes in mind: working to be as talented as Father was. Even if the pain never leaves me, I have to achieve this goal, whatever the cost may be. Our parents' sacrifices shall not be in vain.
I'm trying to hope that, next time I'll be writing to you, things will be better. I have so little to hope for, anyways.
Your brother,
Desmond Sycamore