Dear no one in particular,
Today, he set his eyes on me; making me feel inferior again. It wasn't the first time he has done this...this was one of the [many] times his cold stares brought chill along my backside. I shouldn't be feeling this way, I've come to admit this. He was my best friend's fiance afterall! Oh, how I hate him. I despise all things my best friend came to love about him. How could he [that monster] steal her away from me? How? He took [her] my love, the one I clung to since we were in diapers, I love her...I love her.
Dear no one in particular,
Tiffany forgot again. It’s not like she’d give a care to these types of things – last night marked Father’s eight death anniversary. While I was in the graveyard, reading my current compositions to him, Tiffany was out with her latest boyfriend, Mr. PHD. She called me – with her irritable perky tone- stating her whereabouts and that dinner was in the oven. I didn’t leave my place besides Father, though. I told her I was in the arcade with the neighbor’s daughter. She didn’t seem concerned anyway. I’d never leave Father’s side; that’s how his death came to be, when Tiffany left him for Mr. DDS. Tiffany, the unfortunate person she is, was left behind when Mr. DDS had to go overseas to finance his investment. Whatever that meant; Tiffany was still going to find another mister: Mr. Bachelor of Arts, Mr. Masters. Last night I read to Father about the stars in the sky, the glimmering embellishments of the night. My voice lingered fear as the night grew long and the moonlight shown more brightly. I sat there, still, on the rock besides his gravestone. I designated that rock for myself. I even painted little ducks on it. The dry edges and cracks of it made the ducks seem elderly. When the moon raised high above Father and me, I stood up. My departure speech and blessings were said and I left. Not a single tear was shed, must you know. I’d never cry because of Father. He never made me cry. Tiffany, she made my tears become her morning greeting and goodnight kiss. It doesn’t bother me, not anymore.
Dear no one in particular,
It's [their] wedding day, today. And, sigh. I'm a bridesmaid. My pale skin is unworthy to have this fine piece of silk wrapped around it. How lovely they look together; the soon to be newly wedded couple. He stole her from me, he has finally did it...
Dear no one in particular,
I asked him to paint me the sky.
He did, but one thing was missing – my Father. Father is in the sky, somewhere looking down at me; the boy missed it. He forgot to include Father…
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As I lay dying . . .
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