I forgive you for the part about killing me. I forgive you for following me from the club that night, for slicing into my body, for leaving me for dead in that clearing in the forest. I forgive you because your pain at this moment is harsher than any punishment given by men. I forgave you, even when you couldn�t forgive yourself.
I have been your shadow, these past few months after my murder. I have watched as you became part of the search for my body, knowing that you knew perfectly well exactly where I was. I looked on as you combed through the newspapers and studied the evening news; as you broke down when they found my necklace by the side of the road, I was there. I stood before you as you sat in the dark, imagining my spirit watching you, not knowing that it was. I have sat by your bedside as you awoke in the night dripping with sweat, at dreams of knives and blood and screams. I have been your constant companion and so I know your pain.
You left me there, my breathing shallow and my pulse faint. In that short hour I thought about a lot. Even when my flesh had gone cold I stayed and continued to think. I decided that I hated you. I hated you for everything you had done to me and everything you had taken from me. I didn�t know what I could do to you, but in that dark night I followed the trail you had left, barley visible, through the woods and to the road. I followed you home, I would keep you.
Of course, I was mad at first. My spirit, haunted by memories of that night and how you pinned me down, and how to silence my screams you slit my throat; and so in anger I returned to you. For weeks I screamed at your unhearing ears, I pounded on your walls and stomped on your floors, I struck out in anger but you could neither hear nor feel my presence. Eventually, I tiered of this game of which you were oblivious, it was then for the first time I really watched you.
You were making breakfast and thinking of that nice young girl who had flirted with you last night, you were trying hard not to think about me. You burnt your eggs, because you thought you heard my screams. I laughed for the first time since I met you and thought that perhaps there is some meaning to death after all. I continued to follow you everywhere you went, this time silent and observant. I must admit that you fascinate me. Through you my life continued to have meaning after death, I realized that you would always remember me and so I could live on through you. Without realizing it you have given me back what you took away, your life no longer belongs to only you, now it belongs to me too.
I was glad that when they found my body it was disfigured, beyond identification, by wild animals. I rejoiced, when after weeks the body was identified but it was announced that the killer might never be found. This revelation insured that you would continue to live free but haunted by my memories as well as myself. I would never have to follow you to a jail cell, I wouldn�t waste my death within four walls and you wouldn�t waste your life there either. I could continue to follow you to my hearts content and I planned to.
For a while we were even. You took my life, so I haunted you during your wake and sleep; you gave me control over your life. One life for another � you took mine, I ruined yours � we were even. I thought there was nothing else you could take from me, but I was wrong.
It was raining the night your ruined my death. You were sleeping for the first time in weeks. Tossing and turning the restless sleep that had become your norm. I came to you in your dream, my eyes dark, my hair wet. My flesh was pale and your cuts covered my body. In your dream I smiled at you. Your knife was still embedded in my chest � that final stab that had eventually led to my death. I kissed your mouth and you cried. You feel to your knees and relived each moment of my murder. I was still watching when you woke up, half expecting to see me standing in your room. You screamed and cried and not knowing what was coming, I laughed at your pain.
You got up, hot with rage and fear, sweat covered your body. You fell down the stairs, grabbed a hammer and pounded at the floor boards, removing the knife you killed me with. My dried blood still covered its surface. You plunged it into your chest. Blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh, my own blood, dried on the blade, mixed with your own and somehow tied us tighter together. All this I watched, at first not quite comprehending the meaning of your actions. When I finally did comprehend, I stared in shock across the room at your discarded body. You had already left; nothing was holding you here or anywhere else. I was alone.
So twice you have taken my life. I hope that wherever you are, you�re never happy. Still for the part about killing me, I forgive you. For everything else, all the pain you have caused me in death I hope you suffer as I have, and will, for all eternity.