One Hundred Happy Letters
Way before my suicide, I’d give the letters to a friend. One hundred happy letters in
my own hand, detailing how I am and how much I truly, truly miss my mum and dad.
And how much I love them, and always will.
We’d discuss the dates at which the letters should be released; maybe one every three
months. And I’d make a special batch just for birthdays, Christmas, days like that...
And I’d pay for the stamps in advance, not to put my friend out or anything.
I pictured their joy at knowing I was still alive, still smiling, still out there somewhere
- never having to worry about my death or at having created a boy who can’t even
look his classmates in the eye or get on the bus for school without a limp-wristed
gesture or a kick in the back.
One hundred happy letters, bound with an elastic band. And no chance of ever making
the ones I love as ashamed of me as I am.
Stephen Griffith Price lives in the Brecon Beacons National Park, Wales, with his slightly overweight pug, Emlyn. His writing has appeared in PinkNews and Giggle Magazine. He graduated from Swansea University’s MA in Creative & Media Writing.