The Letter Writer
Honestly, I’m not sure why I’m writing this letter. I was inspired to write this letter after reading a book where the main character wrote these sorts of letters. That character had cancer, and was about to die. I know, so cheerful.
My stepfather believes I spend too much time reading books, and it is “unhealthy.” Imagine that, thinking reading is unhealthy! He thinks it’s unhealthy for me to imagine and dream. But I think that is ridiculous. Dreaming and imagining is my way to escape the horrid world. A way to relieve the painful bruises and scars.
I don’t know if I’ll actually do it. Maybe I’ll actually do it. Maybe I’ll find a cure to the storm, instead of crying in my bed, my thin sheets covering my head. Now it’s normal that I’m in agonizing pain, shaking with fear, my eyes heavy with sleep. Maybe I won’t be tired anymore. Maybe I won’t be scared anymore. Maybe I won’t be in pain anymore.
Maybe. I seem to use this word a lot. Maybe I’ll make it through high school. Maybe I’ll go and pursue my dream to become an author.
So if you find this letter, that means I was brave enough. You might cherish this letter, or maybe you’ll just throw it away. I hope you read it. I hope I’m not wasting my time writing this letter.
So if you’re reading this: Carry on. Persevere. Because if you won’t let go, then I promise I won’t.
Phrases for the humble: At some points in life, we fall to the ground, our tender skin hitting the cold floor. We will all be bruised, beaten, broken. But it’s when you rise again, you will find your strength.(This is my quote by the way, but I give you permission to use it. Perhaps you will be famous because of it. That would be amazing.)
A short young girl with blond locks cascading down her delicate shoulders, stood in front of a towering bookshelf, her chocolate brown eyes glinting with excitement. After examining the wide range books, she slowly took out a book named, “The Rebellion,” which matched exactly what she was feeling. Rebellious. The young girl took a deep breath. Her hand trembled slightly as she nestled the letter in between the delicate pages. The girl shoved the book back into the shelf, and before she could think twice, she hurried out the library, smiling weakly at the librarian. She ran her hand through her hair, making sure that it covered her neck. To hide the bruises.
So I checked the library yesterday, and found that the letter was gone. That means you must have read it.I have no idea who is reading this right now. Perhaps it’s my best friend. My enemy. A student I haven’t met. A teacher. A parent. Whoever you are… Kind of strange how this works.
So what do you think of these letters? Am I just a silly, stupid, innocent girl (I am a girl, by the way. I hope you could tell from my handwriting), or do you see some meaning behind all of this? Well, I guess you do see some meaning if you’re reading this letter again. Or maybe you’re reading this to laugh at me again.
Yesterday there was another storm. I was late from school because I wanted to put my last letter in the library, and my stepfather became angry. He beat me again. It was excruciatingly painful, but I guess I’m used to that. I don’t know what scares me more – my stepfather beating me, or the fact that I find that normal. I hope I can do it. I’m halfway there – only 1 more year of hell until I’m free. Free to be what I want. Free to do what I want. Free to by myself.
I already mentioned that I wanted to be a writer when I’m older. Yes, I know it doesn’t pay well – go ahead and laugh at me. But I would love to show the world by ideas that swirl around in my big head, my confusing thoughts, my hopeful ambitions. I have so much to say, and I think writing is the best way to do it. I usually write early in the morning, or late at night. I’m a night owl, and more things are whizzing around than at any other time. I love words. That’s why I’m writing to you.
So did you think about my promise? You’re not giving up? Because if you’re not, then I won’t either. I’m not giving up.
Phrases for the humble: There’s always going to be another mountain, and you’re always going to want to make it move. But it isn’t about what’s on the other side – It’s the climb that counts.
Postscript (P.S stands for that by the way) I’ll put the next letter in 1776 written by David Chainmi
A young boy with curly hair smiled as he found another letter in“The Rebellion.” He had found the letter, because his tutor had asked him to find a book on revolutionary war. The small surprise he found left him smiling. Not a cocky smirk he usually wore, but a real, meaningful smile. He found that the letter was captivating. He could relate completely to this girl who wrote these letters. The letters she wrote were so innocent, so bare, yet so inspiring.
The boy shoved the letter in his pocket, before swaggering out the door, plastering on an arrogant smile to cover the pain in his heart.
Hello again! It’s great to see that my words are being read. How’s your day going? My day is going fine… I guess. But sometimes people say things that just make me want to burst into tears. They hit a sore spot in my heart that is particularly sensitive, without even meaning to. Do you know what I mean?
It seems like the world is so full. 4 babies born every second, I guess. But there are people rushing around, always so busy, always so oblivious to the disasters and problems of the world. Always oblivious to me. Would they even notice if I disappear? Oh, don’t worry. I won’t go off and run away. Maybe. Well, I do have plans. I’m writing a book that I hope to publish. I know what you’re thinking, but don’t doubt me. My loving mother said I could, and she never lies.
I didn’t get a physical beating last night. I got something much much worse; a verbal beating. I thought that I’ve been hurt before, but nobody has ever left me this sore. My stepfather’s words cut deeper than a knife, bruised more than a fist, scarred me more than a shard of glass. I just wished I had someone to breathe me back to life. Do you ever get that feeling? Do you understand what I’ve been saying?
On one hand, I hate my stepfather. But on the other hand, I think that his bitter words have… encouraged me to work harder. Is that weird? I suppose it is.
I think you’ve been keeping my promise. So I promise I will too. Because you’re reading these letters, I’m not sure why, but I feel like I’m going to make it through. I’ll come out alive. And I know you will too.
Phrases for the Humble: Use the pain inside of you to keep going, because at the end of the day, your only goal in life is to be successful.
Postscript – The School For Good and Evil #1 (We’re moving on to my favorite books now!)- Soman Chainani
The girl with tanned skin folded her letter, satisfied with what she wrote and sealed it with red wax. “ The bus is here!” Her stepfather banged on the door. The girl made a face, scooped up her bag, and carefully put her letter hidden in her pocket.
On the bus, delicate nose was an inch away from the window, her eyes staring intently at the cars passing by. She wasn’t an insecure person – she just didn’t want to open up to stupid people. She couldn’t help it.
The girl shifted her arm slightly to cover the bruises.
Seventeen weeks later…
The boy with pale skin had never actually fallen in love with a girl before. He thought most girls were annoying. But this girl was different. She had written 32 letters, all of which he had kept, slowly itching into his heart. A girl that he had never met before.
Was that weird? He wondered as as he searched for the book, Percy Jackson and the Titan’s Curse by Rick Riordan. This mystery girl seemed to have an obsession with Rick Riordan, seals, and mangoes.
He pulled out the letter.
I’m sorry. Do it for me.
Please, whoever you are. Whoever who has been reading my letters, do it for me. Live for me. I’m moving from London to Malaysia so I can’t do these letters anymore. My book is terrible. At least that’s what my editor told me.
So please, please, please. Live for me. Travel to America, fulfill your dream – Live for me. So I’m breaking my promise. I can’t do it anymore. But you can. Will you do it? Will you live your dream? Please. This may sound short and sappy, but god, live for me.
Phrases for the humble: How many times can a person break before the only things left are shattered fragments too small to piece back together?
Postscript – none.
The boy stared at the letter in disbelief. So this was the end? Was this what it’s like to be dumped by a letter? Because he certainly felt dumped. But something within him was aflame. He would live. He would live for her.
He tucked the letter in his pocket, and purposefully strode out of the library.
Theo Parker would live.