The Last Post

My dear and only brother, I've been meaning to write to you for a long time now. Too many years spent without the heart to put these words down onto paper. I'd always hoped that you would contact me in some irrefutable way, but only the ghosts of strangers ripe with bitterness seem to call out to me these days. Their guilt and anger harpoon my waking thoughts, and rouse me from my restless sleep. If only your voice would confront me on occasion, then their torments would seem more understandable. But while they taunt and scream, you remain as silent as death itself. But on nights like these, I feel some small comfort in these trails of ink. They lead me to forgotten places that I thought I'd lost forever.

© Chris Bond — 4 May 2001

A note to my late brother, who committed suicide by self-immolation.