Perhaps not-so-surprisingly, the letters to your hometown were somewhat... bittersweet. Many were nostalgic and expressed some sort of yearning to go back; others were marvelously angry and hateful; some were a bit of both, which I suppose makes a lot of sense. In any city or town, there will be good and bad memories to create. Either way, I enjoyed reading your letters immensely. I'm astonished by the quality of them this month - perhaps the subject of hometowns is one that causes people to become very poetic. However, there is one that stood out with its breathtaking emotions and its personification of the town:
quake (transitions)To the city made of shaky ground,
It's been three years, nine months and thirteen days since you first cracked irrevocably. September 4th, 2010, 4:35am. We lived just a block shy of industry back then, in a suburb which was just as like to invite you in for fried food and a beer as it was to offer you marijuana in the park. We lived just a block shy of industry back then, so when I was awoken before dawn by our shuddering home, it didn’t seem like such a strange thing. But the shuddering intensified into spasms and it didn’t stop, it didn’t stop and suddenly my father was in the doorway and where am I supposed to go in an earthquake? All I can remember is “stop, drop, and roll” from primary school, and some clever corner of me is aware that I’m babbling, that I need to concentrate; then, the earthquake subsides. The power’s out, the candles are lit, and the (battery powered) radio is already speaking statistics, projections, and ad
The terror caused by the destructive earthquakes in her hometown made for a beautiful letter, and for that Lissomer will receive a three-month Premium Membership!
Dear HometownDear Hometown,
I still remember you like it was yesterday when I moved away and over the mountains. I remember the salt-sented air that used to gently flow around me as I went on with my life. I was nine when I left, but I still remember you very clearly, even though its been nine, almost ten years, since I left.
I was born in your little St. John's hospital, and stayed with my mother up in the Queen's suite. I pretended to help my parents build our first home when I was a toddler while we stayed at my grandmother's huge home across town. You were little when I was little, only home to a few thousand people.
Sadly, my father needed to find better work. Making windows and being a cashier at Walmart wasn't paying the bills. I didn't want to leave you, since you had been my home for so long. My family moved across the straight to a town you could see from your beaches on a clear day. I got to see you once and a while, but often you were shrouded in mist on the bright, beautiful days
This Little GirlTo: The Town by the River Where All Things Drowned
The heat's been climbing into bed with me for the past few weeks now. It's tied itself around my wrist since the moment I left my luggage on the weighing scale and found out that 20 kilograms was not enough to hold a life. The clock ran dry an hour after take-off, and the map was a blinking constellation of all the miles that passed between hello and goodbye. When a stewardess asked me what I wanted to drink, I told her I was fine. I should have taken her up on her offer. I didn't know that letting go meant being cooked well-done along a dusty sidewalk in May.
I grew up with the promise of the sea salty in the back of my throat; I grew up with the wind rattling my windows and demanding why it couldn't stay with me. I'd spend summer days running across rice paddies with my dog. On cold nights I'd push open the waist-high gate separating the terrace from the lawn, rusting red chips of paint staining my
A Letter To My HometownA Letter To My Hometown.
Despite the fact that I have lived in you for all of my almost nineteen years, I am only just starting to explore you. Before these past few days, I ignored you, head buried in my book as we speeded through you and beyond your limits, always on our way to better things and places and lives. Only recently have I begun to traverse your streets, accompanied by good friends, which every adventure benefits from. You are going to be the place where I spend most of my summer, so I may as well enjoy finding out more about you.
You are a sprawlingly small town, really, and no one seems to be quite sure where you end and other towns and the countryside begin. Though you have a hospital and a library, you have very little else. Hairdressers, takeaways, charity shops and pubs... and that’s about it. The high street is usually quiet.
Except for on days like today, when the sun is high in the sky and for once the air is actually quite warm, when I walk wit
MunichOh, how I despise you. The trash swept into the back alleys, the dapper businessmen and pretty ladies put up front so the tourists can swarm over you like flies and marvel at your shallow beauty.
Nothing really matters to you. Your youths dress up as punks and nazis and play catch, your elders lay forgotten on your doorstep.
You spit on me and those like me. You prefer to hide the broken ones behind concrete walls rather than deal with our problems.
Did you ever care about me? Was it my fault? Was I too different for you?
Nevermind, I've moved on.
But I do think of you occasionally. And as much as I hate to admit it, I miss you. It wasn't all that bad, now, was it? We had good times, when we were innocent. Well, I was innocent and you pretended to be. But I didn't mind, back then. I liked your façade. The festivals, the pretty lights and the buzzing and the fun. I thought I could stay here forever.
And when I grew up, and we grew apart, I wished I could change, adapt so you woul
Homecoming, homegoingDear hometown,
I always come back to you, a little older and a little taller but still able to fit into your arms. You were once my universe; the conifers in the forest were giants and the man I often saw walking his dog was a goliath. Everything seems smaller, closer now. Somehow the miles have shrunk under my feet as my horizons have stretched to impossible size, now that my compass points to another city. Soon a moving van will drift through your capillaries and take me away, to be exhaled into another town. And I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want to try and pack up a map’s worth of memories into some cardboard boxes and I can’t fit twenty years into paper-wrapped parcels.
The children still scream in the park, water flooding their skin. And the trees continue to echo your veins, a network of branches dissipating and rippling from the hearts scratched into their bark. I never understood why someone wou
New Prompt: Letters to Your Enemy
Who is your worst enemy? What do you want to say to them? Would you ever be able to forgive them?
Submission and Rules
Submit your letters to this folder.
One entry per person.
No novels - keep it a few pages long or less.
Work must be your own.
Entries can be old or new.
Prize = 3 month premium membership courtesy of Moonbeam13
Contest element closes on August 25. However you can still submit letters to the folder after the deadline, although not to win.