Challenge 1: Ripped Apart
I stared at the paper on my desk, wondering what to say to him. Maybe that I missed him, or that I wished he was here again, or that I haven't stopped thinking about him since he left. Would I write about my intense hatred and love for his choice to leave?
What about how Miriam is still drinking and had to go to the hospital from alcohol poisoning yesterday? Or how Bob lost all his money in the stock market and we're bankrupt? What about the fact that I haven't eaten because we can't afford it or that Miriam keeps forgetting to go get our stamps?
Why should I write to that stupid football-head? He knew how I felt, yet he still left me. I miss him, but I can't write that. I'll probably seem pathetic to him.
I wish my heart would heal. How this fragile shell I have built for years would simply come back up and I could act normal again. I hate missing him. I hate being ripped apart. I wish things went back to how they used to be, with me scowling and pretending to hate him. How he would be frustrated and just ignore me, only for me to hit him again with another spit ball.
"I wish everything was back to normal. I wish you were here." I thought to myself. I picked up my pen, determined to tell him how much I missed him. I wrote,
"Dear Arnold,"