"Actually, he only called me 'stupid' a few times. When he was...weak. Overwhelmed. I guess. Or angry. It's like having a dog for years. She's loyal. Loves to chase s#*t and cuddle. The kind of dog that knows what your thinking, knows what you need. But I'll be damned if, one day, she didn't snap on you because you petted her the wrong way on the wrong day. All it takes is once. It changes everything. You can never let your guard down around her again. She, officially, 'bites.'

My dad bites. He didn't bite much, but he did. I think he called one of my drawings 'stupid' once. It was. I know that now. He was right. Some terrible, made up super hero I'd created which was actually just a hodgepodge of stuff I stole from other heroes from my comic books. What the hell is a 'hodgepodge?' Anyway, he informed me that it was stupid. I didn't know what that meant. Just knew that it hurt. You gotta be careful with the truth. It'll get people killed.

Now that I think about it...he called me stupid alot. Most of the time though I was calling myself stupid way before he actually got around to it. Dumb stuff. Sneaking out at night. Spray painted some stuff. Got caught stealing a few times. Kid stuff. Stupid stuff. Those 'stupids' didn't hurt. That was the point. To do something stupid. Because I was stupid. Remember? How stupid I am? How bad that picture was? Spider-man mask, Superman cape, Wolverine claws, blah blah blah. It was stupid.

I failed alot of classes in school. Nobody cared about my grades until I failed. Then you get yelled at. Those 'stupids' did hurt. Hurt bad. I wasn't trying to be stupid. I just didn't understand. I usually tried pretty hard, too. Like, in math...all the numbers just start spinning or something. Like a video game when it starts glitching. Whatever. I'm just bad at it. Stupid. It's hard, I don't know why. He could have just helped me. But he didn't. Guess he was just as stupid as I am.

Weird thing about being stupid...everything becomes stupid. It's hard to explain. When you think that you, yourself is stupid? Worthless? As in, I have no value? When you feel like that? You start thinking that everything is stupid. My mom? F*@&ing stupid. Drinking and driving. F*@&ing stupid. I hope she enjoyed face-f*@&ing that tree with her face. Ugh. Eww. I can still smell her in my mind. She smelled like vodka. God, I can still taste her smell in the back of my throat, on my tongue. I hope she enjoyed her stupid life, because she sure didn't enjoy mine.

My life? It's stupid. My future? Worthless. Hopeless. Stupid. Just like my Dad. Just like my Mom. Just like me. Just like all of you. Just like all those stupid people. I knew it was stupid before I went in. You want to know why I went in there like that? Mowed them down like fu*@&ng worthless, stupid dogs? Cause that's what they were. Don't blame me for what I did. Blame my stupid parents and this stupid world. Blame their stupid little comments and snickers. Blame them for all the times they made fun of me with their stupid, loving parents and their stupid nice clothes and their stupid friends and stupid futures.

I didn't do it because I'm evil. Or because I wanted to watch them suffer. I'm not sick. I have a sickness. I'm stupid. Remember? Maybe you're all stupid too. Too stupid to love me. Too stupid to notice me. Too stupid to include me. You're talking to a stupid, unloved person with no hope and no future. And you want to know why I did it? It was either this, or spend my entire life feeling like this while I watch other people who don't. Sorry, but no one is exempt from suffering."

Her shaking hands slowly fold the letter and gently set it on the table before her. The families sit still for several moments. Fewer are crying than one might expect. Those who are crying do so silently. Most are just numb. Hypnotized. "I don't know if this makes things any better, or gives you any closure. I'm sure it won't. It was lying on his bed, with a cheap gas station rose laid over the top. There was a single bullet underneath. Make of it what you will. I'm too stupid to know what to make of it."

There's a distgusting silence.

"The exit is on your left."

His heart suddenly explodes with a dramatic and desperate thump. Blood violently begins pumping through his body again. Painful air begins filling his dry, collapsed lungs. He whimpers and begins clawing himself. Instinctual screams echo off cheap wood, muffled in a tight, airless vacuum. His body begins retraining itself to live. Toes wiggle. Knees pop the wooden lid. Elbows slam against dense oak. Finally, his eyes open. Blinking, straining, and wiping his eyes, he realizes that he is blind.

A rainfall of memories suddenly drown his mind. The doctor consistently and repeatedly telling him that he had no idea what was causing his sickness. The guilt of watching his children play in the fields, trampling flowers and lies in cheap shoes, blissfully ignorant of the difficulty that awaits them. Waking every other night to find his wife weeping, her muffled and choked tears haunting the walls of their crumbling cabin. He grinds his teeth and claws at the wood above him with bloody fingernails.

A week earlier he’d used what little strength he had left to dig his own grave. He remembers the family trip to pick out the cheapest coffin they could find, his wife and children following him like morbid young ducklings chasing their mother. He didn’t remember his heart finally giving up. He didn’t remember his mind suddenly blinking out of existence. He didn’t remember a stranger looking upon his family with pity. He didn’t remember that stranger donating a fine suit for him to be buried in. He didn’t remember the strange man lending them a wagon. The stranger helped his wife load his body as she lead him to the grave he’d dug.

He didn’t remember the stranger struggling to lump his body into his coffin. He didn’t remember the force with which he struck the bottom of the grave or the soft plops of dirt slowly covering the lid. Bloody fingers finally quit clawing and gently rest on his chest. Every breath is deafening as it echoes on wooden walls. He knows he’s not getting out of here. He remembers the adrenaline and anger that fueled the digging of the grave a couple of feet deeper than it probably needed to be. He’d never lived alone. He’d never worked alone. He’d never played alone or slept alone. He becomes very concerned that he has no idea how to die alone. “I suppose,” he says, “I’ll just give it a try and see how it goes.”

He takes a deep breath and starts to hum an old church hymn.

He stands in a small room with silver walls. The ceiling is one large fluorescent tile, a dim glow that illuminates the cleanliness of a polished black floor. Surrounded by holographic screens, he zooms in and out with odd and exaggerated gestures. To his left are two children sleeping. Clouds and sunshine are painted on the walls, engulfing a small bed adorned with covers and blankets portraying colorful cartoon characters. He slowly swings his arms, zooming in on the measured rising and falling of their chests. As they breathe in and out, he runs his fingers across his chest and stomach. His midsection is completely still, lacking the motion of inflating lungs and pulsing heartbeats.

On the screen to his right he finds a couple making love. He zooms into their faces painted in pleasure. Their bodies are contorted and twisted, covered in sweat and other fluids. They grip, claw and kiss each other in a frenzy. Running his hands along his thighs and groin, his eyes squint in confusion as he tries to make sense of their activity. He stares at their faces, unsure about exactly what they’re feeling. It’s seems like pain, but he can’t be sure. His eyes widen as he remembers a Program he downloaded years ago. “Sex...” he whispers to himself. He’d ran that program over and over but couldn’t understand why it was downloaded so many times. User approval of “Sex” quickly plunged after launch. The developers promised a patch and upgrade to improve the effectiveness of the program, but it never came.

His face tightens as he turns his attention to the middle screen. Groups of men clad in strange green and brown uniforms march through a field. They carry large metal objects and are surrounded by gigantic steel vehicles. Loud pops can suddenly be heard. The men begin to explode in sprays of red and black vapor. He watches as they scream, scramble, and collapse to the ground. Stumbling backwards, the man rubs his eyes and props himself up against a table. He quickly turns and makes his way out of the room. A woman is standing with expectation. She’s perfect in her form, flawlessly built in her shape and stature. Golden hair hangs from her ceramic skin. Plain white clothing clings to her, perfectly tailored for her body.

“I do not think this is necessary.” she says as they lock eyes. “I wish you found your current emotional experience to be one of joy.” He hangs his head as he approaches her and takes her by the hand. “I do have joy.” he replies. “I think that I would like to experience other emotions.” Her face gets long as she lifts his chin with flawless fingers and looks into his blue eyes. There are other Programs you can download. Also, there are large updates soon available.” He smirks. “I am sorry. I know I am being very animated and perhaps dramatic in my actions. I was informed that, when the Simulation is complete, I will be more capable of explaining the emotions that I am currently having.”

She releases his hands and walks over to a large, black, pill-shaped pod. “May I ask you a question?” He approaches the pod. “Yes.” Her eyes meet his again. “Are you feeling negative emotions concerning our marriage? If you are willing to postpone this, I will download new Programs. One of them will surely help you experience joy with our marriage union...” He takes her hands again. “Do not feel fear over this. I have requested the Accelerated Active Experience. I will only be in Sleep for 7 days. I believe that this will improve our marriage in relation to our emotions. Perhaps, if I experience positive changes, you will also decide to experience a Simulation Program. Consider how joyous our marriage will become if we both learn new emotions.”

“It is possible. I will go into our Home and explore Life Programs.” she says as she approaches a door without knobs. It opens with an automatic, silent, and smooth motion. “But I will not make a promise. I experience fear when I think upon Life. The Programmers are very clear that any emotional changes are permanent. Your courage, entering Life, it makes me feel attraction towards you. I worry that I will feel alone while you are gone. I suppose I will Sleep. If I Sleep, I will not experience negative emotions while you are gone.” The door to the pod opens and he carefully crawls in. “Yes, go into Sleep while I am gone. I will attempt to avoid negative feelings and move towards more positive experiences. Do not worry. Negative Filters are mandatory now. The chances of coming back with negative emotions are very small.”

“I understand. I hope we experience joy when you return.”

“I do as well.”

“I feel love for you.”

“I have the same feelings.”

The lid to the pod closes, his eyes shut, and the Life Program begins.