NOTE- This is a slightly disturbing story, and I'd appreciate it if you take it as fiction. This has no relation to real life people or events.
[Blank Letters]
How exactly do letters work? Why exactly do people write them? Of what use are they? I'm sitting in my room writing this, even though nobody is ever going to read it. But then, I can't stop myself from writing. The first time it happened I was too young to fight back, some would say extremely young.
I held on to the belief that everybody was trustworthy and deserved my trust. I trusted her, and the first time she did it, I cried. She told me to dry my eyes, boys don't cry. I was hurt, my heart breaking in a million pieces but, boys don't cry. Or, do they?
The second time it happened, I knew what I did was wrong, and I tried to apologize, but it didn't matter. I was punished for it, the term, boys don't cry ringing in my head. I held on to that, and didn't shed a tear this time. I was strong, I didn't cry.
When I started secondary school officially, I was a strong boy. I didn't cry even when I was flogged, I lived up to what I was expected to be. When I saw other boys cry, I'd wait for them after school to query them. Depending on their responses, I'd beat them up till they stopped crying. The first boy was said to have died a week later, the injuries were too much for his fragile body. But then, nobody knew it was me, nobody had to.
I was so cute to look at, unassuming too. No one suspected me, not even the victims. Boys weren't supposed to cry, it was an abomination. That was what was ingrained into my heart, my body and soul. Little by little, the boys stopped to cry, they were strong boys now. I was happy, so so happy.
Years later, I was in senior class, and some would say I was notorious, but I beg to differ. I was being a boy, strong and never letting anyone put me down.
I noticed a girl in my class always watched me, so I took it that she liked me. After weeks of looking back and forth, I decided to take matters into my own hands. The first day I touched her, she cried and I slapped her. It was meant to be a pleasurable experience, so why was she crying? This was how my first experience was and I was told not to cry. Girls are so weak, they need to be stronger. That's what I thought at least.
The next day, she came to my house accompanied with a woman who was dragging her, anger written on her face. She was accusing me of rape and I just couldn't understand. What does she mean? Rape? Me? I was so angry and my parents vouched for me. The school did too, since I was never seen talking to her or anything. Hence, she became a liar and was ostracized. But, it wasn't my fault. If boys weren't supposed to cry, why do girls cry?
I grew even more, my university days were memorable. What was even memorable was that boys never cried there. They were strong boys and even when one boy who knelt down to beg a girl publicly, drowned in the river the very next day, life was generally good. I made new friends and some girls. Girls weren't my friends because they kept crying. If there was really equality, why do girls cry and boys never allowed to?
I never became friends with them, I always felt I saw superior and they deserved to be under me, unless they could be stronger. My first girlfriend said I abused her, which was a stupid claim. I never abused her, I just treated her the way she should have been treated. She kept mentioning assault and it pissed me off to no end. Why couldn't she take a little pain? She was obviously a weaker vessel.
My next girlfriend was naive, she believed in fairy-tales and rainbows. She kept talking about how emotions were meant to be shown but then, she was a girl after all. They had everything they wanted. They didn't understand what it meant to be strong, to hold back tears till tears felt alien to you. In the end, she ran away from me and called me a monster.
So many after, they called me abusive. Even when I married, my wife filed for divorce and left me alone. She took our children along, two handsome boys. It hurt, it hurt me immensely. But, I know where they live. As I write this, their house would go up in flames tomorrow. It's not my fault she wasn't strong enough. My boys would have been tainted by her weakness. They were no longer mine.
I'm sorry boys, but boys don't cry. I hope when you feel the flames on your skin you won't cry. Remain strong for daddy and make daddy proud.
I hope you smile when you burn, for this is me cleansing you from all form of weakness.
Remember, boys don't cry. They never do.
©Victor Mairo
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