A/N: Hello all, thanks for popping in to check out this one shot. :D

Now, if anyone is familiar with my Arrow stories, this might be a slight change of pace. I usually write much funnier stuff, but this letter was written as an entry to a competition over at the fabulous jbuffyangel's blog – Something to Live For. The challenge was to write something about Oliver's death from anyone's POV and make people cry. So, in a departure from my usual type of story – this one is sad and short… as opposed to funny and rambling like my usual fare. Although, my ducklings do say I torture them with enough angst/cliff hangers in my regular stories. Lol

Anyways, here is my little one shot, a letter from Felicity to the 'deceased' Oliver. Roll on the rest of S3 so we can get this all sorted out! ;)

FELICITY'S LETTER

By Louise Blue

Dear Oliver,

I'm writing you this letter instead of getting ready for your funeral. I'm going to be late. You're not. You're already at the church. The empty box they're going to bury in your name is already there in pride of place. You're finally on time for something. Damn you, why did it have to be this?

I'm writing this letter to you because I don't know what else to do. I'm so angry with you, Oliver Queen. You left me. I've lost you. You said I'd never lose you, and now I have. You lied to me. How could you do that to me? I'm so mad at you, only I don't get to be mad because you're dead and you're not allowed to be mad at dead people. But I am. I want to scream, but if I start, I don't know if I'll ever be able to stop. I want to crawl into that empty coffin of yours and let them bury me under the ground where it's cold and dark because that's how my whole life is now – cold and dark. And it's your fault.

The first day I met you, you said my name and my whole world changed. Nothing was ever the same again. Everything in my life is colored by you now, every memory, every hope and dream has the sound of you in it, the smell of you. God, the smell of you, I'll never know that scent again. It's being buried in the ground in your empty coffin, taken away from me along with everything else that belonged to me. And you did belong to me, Oliver. I don't care how many speeches you gave about us not being able to be together and your reasons. You belonged to me because I loved you. You're mine because you have my heart, and you're being buried with that heart, wherever you are in the world. You don't get a say in the matter. You don't get to compartmentalize that love for my own good in some stupid, misinformed attempt to protect me. You have my heart. I don't want it back. I don't have a use for it anymore.

You left me.

You told me that you loved me and then you left me. My beautifully, unintentionally cruel Oliver. You held up your love, beautiful and shining, full of innocence and hope and laid it at my feet. Then walked away from it, from us. And I'm not allowed to be mad at you because that is one of the reasons I love you, your selfless loyalty and devotion to others. But I am because I wanted it all with you, Oliver. I wanted a life with you, a marriage, a lifelong partnership that would see us raise beautiful blonde children with great hand eye co-ordination despite a genetic tendency towards short-sightedness that we'd never stop being utterly infatuated over. We were meant to get old together, to live a life so full of love and life that it was hard to remember it all, but we could see each moment in the lines on each other's faces.

But that isn't going to happen now because there is an empty box, sitting in a church, waiting for us to say nice things about you over before we bury it, and your memory in the ground. Would you hate me if I didn't go? Would you hate me if instead of a eulogy I yelled and ranted at you at the front of that church, telling you to stop being an ass, stop being dead and come back to me? Would you hate me for hating you in that moment?

Stop being dead, Oliver, please. You owe me this. You didn't honor my last request of you, you have to do this. Don't be dead… I can't bear it. Come back home, to me, to the woman you belong to. You know it's the only thing which makes sense because this can't be how it ends, with an empty box and all this anger. I deserve better than this, and even though I know you don't believe it, you did too, Oliver. You deserved so much better than that empty box.

I'm officially late now. Does that make you smile wherever you are? I hope not, because I'm still mad at you, and I don't want to let go of my anger because I don't want to let go of anything about you. I'm going to hold onto it, white knuckled until my last breath, because I couldn't hold onto you. I should have been able to hold onto you and keep you safe but I couldn't. Are you mad at me about that? I'm mad at me about that. I failed you, Oliver, and that was something that I never wanted to do. Tell me you forgive me. Tell me it won't always hurt this badly. Tell me your last thought was of me because my last thought will be of you. Tell me that this is just a terrible nightmare I'm going to wake up from any minute now. Tell me you're not dead.

Only you are.

And I have to go to a church full of people and listen to them talk about you as though they know you, and smile and be appropriate and I don't want to smile and be appropriate. Damn you, Oliver Queen. How could you leave me? I would never have left you.

I'm so mad.

Make this not be happening, save my life one last time, Oliver, please.

I love you,

Felicity