Originally, this was only a one-shot but one reviewer asked for me to write the letters (well, mentioned that they would like to read them anyway) and it wouldn't leave me alone so I sat down and wrote this. It's the first letter, to her parents, but I'll try and get the next one up. I'm going to leave the story as complete though, but expect the next letter up soon. Please enjoy.


Dear Dad and Daddy,

I know that by the time you read this, I will be with God in heaven or with the Devil in hell, if you believe that and I know I have left you two confused, upset, and undoubtedly angry. I've done a selfish thing, the most selfish thing it is possible for a human being to do and I'm sorry, but that's what I am. I'm selfish and when the world gets hard, I give up. That's the truth, and I think you both knew that. That's why you had me in singing and dancing for so long, that's why you supported it so much.

It was because it was the only thing I didn't give up on. After trying soccer, cheerleading, science camps, band, the whole she-bang, dancing and singing was the only thing I was good at, the only thing I stayed with and actually cared for. So you supported me, and I'll never forget that. I know you cared, in your own way, but even though I know you tried your hardest and I will never forget it all, I can't help but feeling a little resentful. There, I've finally said it.

I wished you were there more, that you actually noticed I was a real child, a person, rather than some miniature adult that you allowed to live in your household and provided you with brief entertainment as repayment. I was there when you wanted to be fathers, and when you didn't, you had the money and a nanny took care of me. You had never even gone to a single one of my competitions since I was three, not even when I was in the running for nationals with my glee club.

I've told my friends that all those things you've kept, those mementos from my life, were because you loved seeing them again and again, but I know the truth, and you know the truth. The only reason you had them was so you could see them the first time. Whatever person was taking care of me that week recorded or took pictures so you could see them, that is, if you weren't too busy. I doubt you've even been through half of that stuff, but hey, it looks good.

I know I'm being unfair to you, ungrateful, spiteful, and I don't want to, I really don't. I loved you both, from the bottom of my heart, and I wish I had the strength to still be with you still, to live and grow up and give you beautiful grandbabies and make you proud, just like I always planned. Like we've always planned. But Daddy, Dad, I'm tired. Everyday just getting up is a challenge.

I don't look at life and see something that provides a challenge, something I can attempt to conquer and win, but a never-ending mountain. Even if I can see the top, even if I feel like I have reached the summit, I fall again, and I keep falling. Down and down, until I'm so bruised and beaten I can't get back up again. I used to be able to heal these injuries, daddy, dad, but they just keep coming and even if they heal they've left scars. Ugly, marring scars that hurt as if fresh whenever someone presses against one, and they do, every day.

Did you even know that I cried myself to sleep every single night for the past two years? No, because you've never spent the night here in this house since I started high school. You are always away; some business trip always meant more than your only child. Those complaints you got from the neighbors about me? They weren't about singing. Maybe I should have told you about that, should have told you how I felt about the world, my life, me.

I'm worthless. I'm horrible. I'm bossy. I'm ugly. I'm loud. I'm overly proud. I'm fat. I don't care about others. I'm jealous. I'm all of these things and more, and people never wasted a chance to tell me it. I never went a day through school where someone didn't whisper how I didn't belong, that I was worthless, a freak. I never went a day that someone had thrown a slushy at me, that I didn't feel the cool sting of grape icicles as they slid down my shirt or feel the hot twinge of humiliation burn my cheeks.

Right now, looking at my chest, I can see these ugly blisters where my skin has been hit so many times; it's an almost permanent red. It hurts, Dad, Daddy, so much. All I wanted was to be wanted, to be cared for, and it's never happened because I don't deserve it. I don't deserve happiness, only loneliness. I don't deserve loving, doting parents or caring friends, but to be alone. I didn't deserve you two, who cared so much and now have to brace the storm as I throw it back in your face. I don't deserve to live.

I suppose you might be thinking 'why didn't she tell us? We could've helped!' I did. Don't you remember when I told you I wished I hadn't been born? That wasn't to hurt you two, to make you feel bad, but the truth. I truly believe that if I hadn't been born, if you had been given a good child, a normal child that led a normal life, you would have been better off. Everyone in my life would have been better off if I hadn't ever existed. And so, I am trying to rectify the problems my living has created.

Despite what I believe to be your faults, I loved you both, and I know that if I had that missing something, you guys would have loved me more, I understand that. It wasn't you that had distanced yourself, but me that had worried all your chances for a perfect child, so I'm ridding myself from you. You were wonderful parents, and no doubt, if you had the right child, not such a screw-up like I have become, you would have been the perfect parents; you still can be.

You both are still young, try for another child. The world is more accepting of gay partnerships than they were when you had me and is infinitely easier to get a surrogate to have your child, try again. Maybe this time your son or daughter, my little sibling, will have that something I didn't. You don't even have to tell them about me, your selfish daughter who gave up. I doubt they would care who I was, or maybe even hate me for hurting you so, but I deserve it.

You deserve the child, a perfect child. If you do tell them about me, tell them I'm up in heaven, a room that looks over them, that I am their older sister that will always be there to protect them, not physically, but spiritually. Even if it's not true, if there isn't a God and I will simply remain in the ground, no longer existing, they will bring comfort through it, if they care. If it's a girl, please name her Violet for the daughter I'll never have, Christopher for a boy.

You might not even read this, you might just throw in a fire and watch it burn, and I perfectly understand. I've hurt you beyond comprehension but I can't keep going. It hurts and I'm so tired. I've finally fallen so far off that mountain that I can never get back up again. I just can't. I'm not that glowing star we've always thought I was.

I'm not shining brightly in the sky, higher than all the others, in a place where people can't touch me, I'm on the ground, a shooting star that's run its short course, and the lights are fading from me. Soon I'll be just a glimmer, a soft shine left from the sparkle I used to be, and sooner rather than later, that will disappear too. I'll disappear soon, an obscure bump on your road, a bad memory that you'll try to distance yourself from, that one horrible moment you will try to forget.

If you do forget me, if you manage to shake me from your mind, I'll understand that, honestly. But I love you both, so, so much, and I wish you all the happiness the world can offer, it will surely be more than I ever could. Try to live on, to live a life worth living and find whatever you've been missing from me in a new child, do it for me, if nothing else. Love that child, my precious baby brother or sister I'll never meet, and be there for them.

Be there where you weren't for me, honor my memory in that. Whenever they are down be there for that. When they are happy, share that happiness. When they are sad, take that sadness and turn it around, like you used to do when I was that tiny thing that fit in your arms and when a glass of water could cure anything. I love you both so much, and I'm so, so sorry for doing this to you, but I can't keep going, I'm hurting too bad.

I know you will never truly understand why I did this, I don't even understand completely, but I hope this letter brings you solace, that you find peace in these last words. I hope with these written words, you can understand, even just a little, that you see why I did it. I hope you realize in the end, there was nothing more you could have done, I was already gone. I want you to know that you did your best, and I love you.

Love your beloved daughter,

Rachel Barbara Berry, a fallen star