Slán Abhaile

Applesintime · #1

Whoever finds this message, if you’re reading this, I’m dead. Dunno if you’re gonna be the Brit or Katherine or that fucker Zander that tried to knock my fucking head in, but whoever you are, you’re here. My bag and shit’s in the barn outside, so if you just want that off you go, but I imagine you’re not one to like, deny a girl her final request, so keep reading this shit.

I’m not doing this because I’m all depressed or the like. No, this is a fuck you. A fuck you to the people who put us in this shithole to begin with. I am a fucking Derry girl, I’m not about to just sit down and let these bastards tell me what to do. Go kill someone, fuck no. I thought I could, but no. I don’t have the balls to kill someone. You know that wee lad, the one who shot himself, Makaria? I thought at first someone had killed him, like, taken a gun and shot him in the back of the head, but no, he committed suicide. I can’t put words into that lad’s mouth, but I wonder if he sort of felt the same way I do, sitting here on a shitty stool with a scratchy pen and ancient bloody paper, writing out the reasons that I’m gonna fucking kill myself.

I’ve never really been religious, honestly. Like, I’m Catholic, but in the sorta way that that means in the North of Ireland; I’m Irish, because all the Catholics are Irish and all the Irish are Catholics, and all the British are Protestant and all the Protestants are British. And with God telling me, saying that cause I like girls instead of boys I’m going to hell, sorta puts you off the whole thing. I’ve always liked the idea of going somewhere after you die, though. That, like, death isn’t the end or some shit. Dunno if it’ll be all the angels playing harps and shit, but it’d be nice, like.

Anyway, time to get to the actual last request. If you can give this to my ma and my da, in Derry, Ireland, somehow, I’d be pretty fucking thankful. It won’t happen, I know that, like, the chances of whoever gets this note surviving is pretty fucking slim, but I’m going to pretend that you will, because that makes me feel better about what I’m going to do. I’m not giving you my fucking address, but my Da, he works for Jim Doherty’s mechanics off John Street. Hand it in, tell him it’s for Padraig. Maybe he won’t be there anymore, but my wee sister, Aoife, she goes to the same place I go to, St Cecilia’s. Hand it in there, and if she’s not there either, then fuck it, you tried.

Mum, Dad, Aoife and John, I love you a lot. I’m gonna be gone, but I’ll keep an eye on you, OK? John, keep doing what you’re gonna be fucking doing, you’ll save the world one day or some shit. Aoife, Im sorry we never got to watch the fourth Shrek or whatever it was called. It’s a lot harder to write this out than I thought it was gonna be, honestly. I dunno what to say, I had so much in my mind and now I’m here I’m just sort of blank. Anyway, none of you blame yourself. It isn’t your bloody fault, it’s this cunt called Jack. I dunno if this’ll get back to you or what, but remember I love you. Keep that close to your heart whenever you think you can’t go on.

And Amy, I don’t know if you’ll get this, I don’t know what’ll happen, but I love you too. I remember how we talked about how we were gonna get a house in the Holylands while we went to Queen’s and we were gonna party all night and when It got cold, we’d snuggle under a blanket and we’d watch those cheesy cheap movies on Netflix and we’d just be together. That’s not gonna happen now, and I’m sorry. Better me being here than you, though. Don’t let your fucking family grind you down, they’re a bunch of old bigoted bastards. Go to Queen’s, find some other nice girl. I know, easier said than done, but it’s for the best if you don’t just stay stuck to me. There’ll be other girls, and I’m not saying forget about me right away, but just, don’t live your entire life thinking about me.

Right. So, I can’t really put this thing off any longer. I sorta trailed off, didn’t explain why I’m doing this, so here’s what. I’m not gonna let these bastards fucking kill me, make me kill some other random wee lad or girl who had the poor luck of being brought here. And I’m not gonna let some other wee fucker kill me, so I’m gonna do it myself. This is my fucking life. It’s mine to live. It’s mine to fucking take, too. I’m not giving some little shit who kills me another reason to wake up in the middle of the night. I can’t do much to stop this thing, I can’t go and shoot the cunt, so this is the best resistance I have against him. Before I go, I’ve a message for the cunt who brought us here. He’s not gonna see it, at least he probably won’t, but I fucking want to tell that wee shit what I think of him. I’m not going to play his little fucking game. If I am going to die on this little shitty island, I will go out my own fucking way.

You think that you’re going to get away with all this stealing kids and shit, wee lad? You wee ant dick cunt? I don’t fucking like them, like, but the CIA and the FBI and MI6 and what-not aren’t just gonna fucking let you take some random wee boys and girls from across the world to do what you want with them. They’re gonna find you, they’re gonna torture you or some shit, hood you and waterboard you and do all sorts of nasty shit to you, then if you’re lucky, you’ll spend the rest of your fucking no-dick life rotting away in a little fucking sell, and if you’re not lucky, they’ll just do you in the head and throw you in the desert. You wee motherfucker, did Mummy not tell you she loved you enough, you wee twat? Swear to God, if they let the parents go at you nobody would give two shits. My da killed someone, he’d kill you no fucking sweat, little jack-off fuck, fuck you, you wee tiny dick prick.

Alright, I’ve not got anything to say. I’m out in the barn. If you wanna let me down, go right ahead. I’ve already said my piece, made my peace and all that, but make sure you remember me if you live through this shit. Remember everyone that fucking died here, because eventually they just forget about the people, they only remember what it was that happened. Maybe the wee fucker won’t let anyone out of here alive, but like, hopefully he will. But like, even if you’re not the first guy who picked this up, if you’re taking it off some lad’s corpse, keep the bloody promise, or I’ll give you a kick in the fucking nuts from beyond.

And if you’re Jack, fuck you.

Keep her lit.

-Deirbhile Mary Callahan.

This is what Deirbhile would have wrote, had she been able to find a pen and paper.

Instead, her thoughts and last wishes died with her.

if someone were to find themselves at the abandoned farmhouse and were to look inside the barn, they would find a girl, swinging from a rope tied around the rafters, and her bag tucked away in a corner. It wasn’t much. Nobody could understand why. Nobody would ever understand why.

But to Deirbhile, the implicit act of resistance was enough.

O06 - Deirbhile Callahan: DECEASED