The Death Row Memoir(Charlotte) Lieselotte was gone. Naturally, I do not approve of the crimes she committed, but as a mother, having my child pass away right before my eyes isn't something I can handle so lightly.
My children were everything to me. I gave birth to an adorable chubby boy a year before giving birth to my beautiful girl, whom I named Lieselotte. Despite little siblings' quarrels, the two youngsters cared deeply about the other, though they don't even hug or tell each other such things.
Unlike her sickly brother, who was a sensitive and quiet young boy, Lottie was a huge extrovert. She was always cheerful, that cheeky little kid. Walking up to strangers and casually strike a conversation wasn't a difficult task at all, for her. In fact, she had lots of friends, thanks to her lightheartedness.
The more she grew, the more I've seen her signs of mental illnesses. The problem reached its peak in her 9th grade, when she no longer hid her depression behind her jolly front. I couldn't lose my dear child, so I made a mistake and admitted her to a psychiatric hospital, after finding several therapists and realizing that they are of no help. Later on, when she left the hospital, she seemed as though she was recovering by herself. She went to school again, and had multiple friends. Her grades were brilliant, and she even founded a debate club, joined several competitions, etc.
- "It was stupid of me to think her depressive teenage phase ended there."
I think to myself, as I read through her diary pages. Her funeral is hours away from now, and I am cleaning her room. I look up at the plushies on her bed, my eyes meeting my daughter's favorite sibling's eyes (that child was empathetic enough to feel affection even for mere objects, thus I don't understand what made her commit such horrendous crimes). I cry, grabbing Poppy and hugging him, then reaching out to feel her other siblings' soft fur. When I've finally calmed down, I open her diary again, reading from the start:
"To ma, Cheyenne and my loving family.
This diary sounds like a quirky teenager's last wish, but since I am going to die anyways, I won't have to hear your thoughts on it, good riddance.
Ma, that hospital treated me like an animal. All those injections made my arm hurt, and I got two seizures from staying in there for four days. Four days in hell, that's what I'd call it. The first night felt strange. There was no air conditioner, so I sweat the entire night, and couldn't sleep. The second night, when dad stayed in the hospital with me, I had my first seizure. My jaw hurt, and I couldn't close my mouth. My saliva kept flowing out, and dad keeps having to wipe it clean. The third night was with you, and you already know what happened. Sleeping just wasn't possible in such a prison. I never want to step foot into such a place ever again. You stressed me out, so I had to act happy again, for you to stop acting crazy. Don't get me wrong, I loved you, but you and this world are honestly so rotten that I actually am relieved to finally be able to leave. Acting the whole time was tiring, honestly. You are tiring. You're one of the reasons why my depression got worst, and you gave me more illnesses than I had before.
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Ma, I got sexually harassed today. I won't say who the man was, I won't cause any more trouble than I already have, but getting touched in such intimate places is disgusting.
I feel like I've lost interest in love. Liking people is the furthest I can go now, and I think I prefer women over men. I like Cheyenne, but I can't let her realize my feelings, for it would ruin our friendship.
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Ma, I confessed my feelings. Or not, I don't know. I put a note on Instagram, saying "Liking them is so risky, how do I tell them that?", so she asked me who I was flirting with. Naturally, I said "maybe I was flirting with you", but she didn't know how to react. I thought that maybe I had done a wrong move, so I took it back and told her I was simply joking.
I will keep liking her, though.
Meeting her again and acting normal wouldn't be too difficult of a task, I am used to such awkward scenarios.
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Ma, I can't keep doing this. This whole thing is so stressful, and I can't find any ways to successfully kill myself without getting others involved or preventing others from stopping me.
From now on, I will live as I like. I don't really care about you all anymore.
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Ma, I killed someone today. She was a jobless, lonely girl who had no family and identity, so I figured nobody would even realize, if she were to be gone. After all, she was suffering from depression, and I just wanted to lend her a hand.
You know, depressed people wanting to die is somehow similar to the abortion debate. Men shouldn't get to decide on what women do to their bodies, just like sane people shouldn't have a say in what insane beings do. It is extremely self-centered. Who are you to decide for me? You're trying to "help" me by prolonging this endless suffering? That's nonsense. You people should shut up and go on with your perfect little lives.
Anyhow, I cut her body up, burned them to ashes and poured them into the ocean. Nobody doubted anything, for they thought I was just burning some trash. That girl can finally get some peace of mind, no?
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Ma, someone else died by me again. I hope they're happy now. I gave them some pills and burned them to ash again, just like what I did with the previous girl.
This one died painlessly, so maybe I should start stealing pills from pharmacies instead of using knives, to prevent them from screaming.
Rest in peace, my friend.
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Ma, I killed someone.
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Ma, I killed again.
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Ma, this guy changed his mind, but I killed him anyways.
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Ma.
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Ma, someone else died by me.
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It's been quite a while since I last wrote in my diary. This school trip is quite useful for my "side job". I can help people out when teachers aren't watching me. I even have a whole month to do this.
How many people got to rest, I wonder? I remember 12 asking for my help.
Ma, I saw them on the news. I might or might not get caught. If I do, I will volunteer to be put to death.
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They still haven't caught me yet. It's been two months. The anticipation is killing me by itself, I wonder when I will get caught. Two people have gone on the news now.
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Ma, this is so stressful. The police will find footages of all these missing people and they'll realize that they've gone missing after coming near the hotel our class booked.
I just want them to catch me already.
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Ma, I started cutting myself again. It's a nice and quick way to relief stress. When you found out about me cutting myself, you took away the knives I bought. Don't you dare touch them again. This is the only way I can help myself now. You've ruined me, along with them all.
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Ma, the police realized that our class is somehow related to this incident. They will interrogate me. I want this to be over with. It's been 4 months.
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Ma, the police let me go. Why are they so stupid? They are hopeless. This stress makes me feel sick to my stomach, I don't want to wait anymore. I want to confess.
I know I am mentally unstable. I know they will think of me as insane. I will find a way to let them know that I am aware of the fact everything I've been doing is wrong, and that I feel just as much guilt as people normally feel.
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I will confess.
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Ma, don't get involved in my trial. Just go away. Keep working and providing for my brother. He's much smarter than me, I bet. Make him put in the effort and he'll being you happiness when you retire. Give up on me. I despise you.
Don't pay for a lawyer, don't go to my trial, don't do anything. Forget about me. Keep living. The world will keep spinning, even after I am no longer here.
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It turned out jail isn't as bad as I thought. I got pretty used to this boredom. I'd like to have my siblings here, but I don't want them to be in jail. Can you take care of them?
Everything's cool in here. I've got books, notebooks, pens, basketball and sometimes I get to listen to music and play the piano, too. Taking a break from the world feels relaxing, I guess.
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Ma, they told me that the families of those I've killed want me dead. I don't blame them, I want myself dead, too. I told them I'd like to volunteer, and they said they'd consider it.
Apparently, one of the duds I've killed is a lawyer and a politician's son. They will have me dead, and I'm glad for that. I owe Rose one. Even after dead, she helped me with my suicide plan.
Ma, how are you feeling right now?
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Ma, they decided to kill me. My sentence will be carried out on 25th of December. On Christmas. And Soviet Union's downfall. What are the odds?
God is probably angry at me right now. I'm sorry, Jesus. I couldn't help it. This world made me such a person. I should've never existed in the first place. I wish to never be reborn. God, I believe in you, and I always will. Ever since I was a child, you have been my hope.
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Before I die, I have to tell you of all the theories that have been in my mind ever since 9th grade. I've researched a lot, since staying at home and playing games all day wasn't exactly fun.
I've lived my life several times, ma. You too. We're all in a loop. You do know what "deja vu" means, yeah? That's a glitch. The truth is humanity will never be able to discover extraterrestrial life. We even had hints. The repeating historical events, "deja vu", the fermi paradox, etc.
Ma, I don't know how long has it been since the loop started, but I do hope that they break it. I don't want to live again.
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Ma, my final meal wasn't too bad. They had a budget, so I asked them for pasta al sugo, cotoletta and bread. This meal reminds me of when I was 9 or 10 years old, in elementary school.
I'm going to take a shower and I'll be back.
I'm back. They gave me new clothes. Bigger ones, but they look all the same. I feel refreshing and relaxed.
This feels strange. I'm about to be released from this curse of a life. I can't wait anymore. I just want the execution to start right now. You know, I've been told that 7 minutes after I die, my brain will replay my memories. It will be so nostalgic.
Nostalgia. The feeling I love, but also hate. I feel melancholy, thinking about it, but I loved being a child. I don't understand why, but I feel like I lost my childhood, trying to be mature. Yet, I still failed and still acted like a spoiled kid. I just want to be a kid again. But there's no going back now. There's no way to turn back time, and if there was, this whole thing would just repeat itself. And I don't want to be a burden to everyone again.
I hope there isn't another side to Earth. I just want to be gone. God won't forgive me, nobody will. I won't, too. God, I'm sorry for being bad.
I will try to talk to the guards out there. I know they'll ignore me, but I'll just try.
Ma, I told them about my school, my life and how I am thankful for them doing their job: they actually nodded. I didn't know they were allowed to interact with prisoners.
Someone's coming inside, ma. I'll be back.
They told me how I'd die, and how they are preparing the room right now. Are you here yet? Can you not come? You don't have to care about me.
I will die by lethal injection. Ma, hear me out on my last words, will you?
I'm just a dumb teenager, so my mood changes often. For everytime I've thought about hating you, I am sorry. I love you. No, I don't know either. Maybe I do despise you. But I do love you, sometimes. I regret being born, and if I had a choice, I'd choose killing myself first, before all of this could happen and trouble everyone around me. I am not begging for mercy, nor am I faking remorse or asking for another chance, when I am standing in front of death. I accept this fate. I don't care much. Apologies sound meaningless, but that is the best I could do. Apologies to families and friends of my victims, apologies to my own family, apologies to my siblings and apologies to Cheyenne - my love.
With love,
Lieselotte."
I remember seeing her praying before lying down. She didn't look scared. She didn't look anxious. My Lieselotte looked calm and peaceful, even though she hated needles.
They injected some sort of anesthetic into her arm, and her eyes slowly closed. My eyes unconsciously widened and I reached a hand out, as if I wanted to stand up and pick her up from that table.
I zoned out, my ears stopped functioning, my eyes stared into nothing and I didn't understand what was going on. Lieselotte's voice kept playing inside my head, and her image just wouldn't get out of my head. A loud "beep" startled me.
Lieselotte was gone. I finally realized what was going on. She will no longer come back. I couldn't cry, I just drove home, too pained to cry. A few days later, her ashes were delivered. I closed her diary and placed it on her bed, walking down the stairs and taking the white jar with angels sculptures and pink ribbons. Inside was Lieselotte's ashes.
I grabbed the car keys and drove until I arrived to the beach, hours later. I grabbed her jar and walked out, not caring in the slightest about the rain. I stood on the shore for an hour, letting the rain soothe me, while I cried out loud. Nobody was passing by the beach, in such a rainy weather. I cried as much as I could, as the white mist formed by the rain embraced me. My daughter loved rain, and I can now see why. A ray of sunlight broke through the mist, as I finally calmed down, and the rain stopped. I poured her ashes and looked up. I don't think she's up there, but I looked up either way.
I got back into my car and drove back home to take a shower. Her funeral must've been over by now. I left everything in the care of her father.
I cannot be miserable for the rest of my life, Lieselotte. There's still your brother. How can I move on from you, my child? If the day I forget about you comes, please do forgive me.

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