This was a thought that the winning entry addressed:
a letter to my worst enemyTo whom it may concern:
Remember the Julys we spent freezing syrup in the simmering ninety-degree heat, always mistaking the flicker of satellites for shooting stars, racing each other on cool green lawns that you claimed were Terabithia?
Then when I turned nine, an age where simplicity becomes luxury, you stayed and comforted me. We both saw Mother and Papa locked in a harrowing rivalry sprawling across weeks that blurred into months and then years, competing to raise their voices louder, to race each other to court, to acquire the house, the nice Crate + Barrel furniture, and, oh, me. You were there, murmuring it'll be okay it'll be okay it'll be okay, but as time dragged, the conversations got briefer and your eyes constantly drifted away to somewhere beyond my shoulder. How can I blame you for that? Anyone would have grown weary of the same dialogue, laced with self-pity, repeating over and over and over.
Sixth grade meant Belinda Weiss, a slender girl with gleam
Using vivid imagery and through frantic pieces of her thoughts, camileewrites weaves a short but powerful tale, leaving the reader wondering who this letter really was addressed to. For her emotional piece, camileewrites will receive a three-month Premium Membership!
Dear Devil's ChildDear Devil’s Child,
You made my life Hell from fourth grade through seventh grade. It was the time when I was just being diagnosed with Bipolar, and life was already complicated and insane. And then you came along and made everything worse. I hated you. I despised you. And everyone knew it.
There wasn’t a single person who was in doubt of my hatred toward you. I made sure of that. I called you names to your face, and you would respond by laughing at me and not letting anything I said come close to touching your ego. Your ego: bigger than Peyton Manning’s fame, The Beatle’s name, and the Milky Way all combined together. And that’s just one of the things I hated about you.
You would always tease me in the meanest way: make me feel uncomfortable to the point where I would cry, or maybe hit you. And then you would take advantage of my weakness and tell the teacher I hit you so that I would get in trouble. What a dick.
You pushed me past many breaking points ma
Dear EnemyDear Enemy,
I do not know when our friendship soured but it did. I will never forgive what you have done. It is unforgivable. None of your words mean anything. Words that spill from your lips are lies. You say what ever will make who ever you are talking to happy. You just keep on lying. You change your story depending on who is listening to you. You want to be the martyr. You want to play the victim.
You are never at fault. You are perfect and never wrong a person in your life. So very very perfect in every way, you do not understand why people just do not do as you say and will. Why they will not act like the peasant to your queen.
I am your demon. I am your hell spawn. I am this evil wench that ruined your life. I am your whipping boy. I am the one you blame for everything that goes wrong in your life.
You never tell people how you stalk me in real life and on line. You haunt the places I exist in. I cannot go anywhere without you turning up grinning at me knowing you make me uncomf
Dearest E, Go To HellDear E,
What time does this make now that I write to you wanting to spill all that I feel? The second? The third? The fourth? Too many to count I would say and yet this time I won't bother trying to make you see it. You've done far too much to me with just your words, your ignorant words, your cowardly words. If I were to come face-to-face with you again do you know what I would do? I would punch you, kick you, knock you down and beat you to a bloody pulp.
YOU MAKE ME SO MAD.
I came to you when I shouldn't have, when I had told myself that you weren't worth talking to, that you would just ignore me like the years before, but I came to you anyway. You answered. You actually answered and continued to answer for longer than I expected. In that instant I believed you had gone through a change and had become what I had wanted you to be, what I had wanted you to always be. I continued to believe until days later, maybe when a week had passed, I called on you again for a similar reason only t
I am not weak anymoreShadowchild,
how long have you been sitting in the back of my head shouting abuse?
I remember a time without you. I was happy once, I was strong and proud and fought for the causes I believed in. I was the odd child; I was extraordinary, and people loved me for it.
But something happened and you creeped into my mind. You demanded a place in my life and I've been fighting you ever since.
Every moment of happiness is tainted by your incessant hisses of paranoia and deprecation. You detect every weakness in me and sneer and snicker at my attempts to hold you back, to hold my defences.
We've been fighting this war for years, and the battlefield, our body, is scorched and torn. We both know where this is going to end: in the cold, hard ground.
But I'm not finished yet. This life is not an illusion. It is very real, and it is wonderful. Look at it! Look through our eyes and see: The face in the mirror is not very symmetric and there's blotches on the cheeks - But it is ours and I love it. Th
mama always told me to treat mean people nicely, I never understood why
I didn't understand people receiving something for nothing, or being negative for that matter
but now I beat myself up sometimes and I realize what she's saying
everybody has their bad days and some people just have more than others
I don't understand why you want to hurt me though, talk about my hair, call me a man
talk about my brother being retarded, me being fat, all of these things
I cannot understand your hate, your phone calls, your look, your harassment
you may be beginning to think you rule over my life, I guarantee it, you don't
because I know when what you're saying is true and when it's full of hate
it's always full of hate
I just hope one day you'll find something that makes you happy,
because whatever it is now it sure isn't helping you
I mean that sincerely
I hope you find peace with yourself
then come find peace with me
you'll feel better, I promise
'Til the first day of school,
The purest intentionsTo His Majesty, the King in Prussia.
Garrison of ***, 1 September 1760.
I dare taking up a pen I would be ashamed to write my dear parents with – plucked from a chicken our gaoler boiled last week, shared among me and four other junior officers – so peremptory is the necessity of acquainting Your Majesty with my grievance. My fellow prisoner, Cornet Vetrov, says you’ll toss this letter into your campfire and sick your dogs on the courier, but he must be wrong: I know for certain – an Austrian officer told me he heard it from the Marquis Botta after the latter was ambassador in Berlin – the dogs you keep are greyhounds, which are too frail-toothed and tender-hearted for manslaughtering purposes.
I was caught by a patrol of hussars, in a village whose name I couldn’t learn. I hadn’t even entered any house yet; it was hot and I stopped at a fountain to refill my canteen. A peasant girl whom I esteemed to be not younger than sixteen – I
Beloved EnemyOh, my beloved enemy,
How could you do this to me? To the child that I was? You robbed that child of her innocence and then robbed me of it again through murky memories.
You are my enemy because of what you did.
You are beloved because of who you are.
A person should never have to go through the confusion that I have gone through, where they are simultaneously adoring and abhorring.
I hate you for what you have done to me, the life that I could have had snatched by your cursed hand in a moment of lust.
But I love you, still. How could I not? You are blood of mine, after all.
I must confess, when I first heard of your Motor Neurone Disease I felt a split second of triumph. Now, at last, you understood what it meant to be unable to speak. And then I felt disgusted by myself. How could I wish such a foul illness on anyone? I do not want you to suffer, even though you made me suffer. I do not hate you.
I do not hate you.
You are both my worst enemy and my admired uncle. And I know that I w
New Prompt: Letters To A Writer/Author
The arrival of September means, for many of us, the beginning of the school year. New classes, new teachers... new English class syllabuses. So if you could write to a writer or an author, either on dA or off, what would you say to them? Would you write to an author you admire? You envy? You despise? Would you complain about or praise their work?
Good luck to all those starting school!
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 October 27. However you can still submit letters to the folder after the deadline, although not to win.