To you, her only apparent acquaintances, or mayhap friends, I am taking time out from work to admit to, ....to her murder.
For that is what it was. Myself and my family.
The person of whom I speak was someone that we all shunned and treated like a vile
freak and a disgusting outcast for most of our lives.
That person, I now realize, was my aunt, although that fact was hidden from me throughout her life.
Her body was found many days after her passing.
It fell to me, the adult nephew to examine the debris of her passing.
A few shabby sticks of furniture, and musty clothing.
I found a book. The cover battered and worn. Her journal.
Out of curiosity, I flip the pages.
I see the ongoing struggle, through many years.
We, her family, ridiculed and rejected her, and heaped abuse upon her.
Unfulfilled hopes and desires.
And always, alone.
She lived alone and died, alone.

I closed the journal as my tears stain the cover and pages.
Now, only I know of her love of music, art, and dance.
And only I know that our hatred and neglect killed her as surely as a sharp blade
or virulent toxin.

I will keep her journal and attempt to honor her in death, even as I did not in life.
Some day, I will teach my children of love and that the true person is revealed in their heart and soul.
I will tell them of the story of their Great Aunt Alexander.

_______________________________________________________________________
The Mercury Theatre on the Air
New York, N.Y.
G.O. Welles, Director