He tapped my chin the my pen trying to think of what to write. This suicide letter meant everything to him. But what to put down. It needed to have feeling for people to understand. The friend had died so that was a start. Very upset that the friend had been murdered. Had been fired and mugged. Life was down. Good, good, start with a list of reasons. Now with something to write he turned around to face his wife’s dead body on the floor. He smiled. He picked his pen from the middle of the puddle of blood that had formed around his wife’s head. He turned to face the page the suicide letter would be written on. The pen spilt ink-blood onto the page.

Dear Friends, and I know you probobly won’t understand why I’m doing this but….