Shy (218 hits)
Category: UberMadness! EntryRating: 2 on 1 review (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by screamfeeder (View user info) at 2005-07-19 10:45:53 EDT
This post was an official UberMadness! entry. Click here to view the original matchup.
Dear Clyde,
I guess I should be thanking you, after all, you were the one that "found me".
Where I was hiding at, even I don't know, but you were the one that opened my eyes to
what this world had to offer. I can remember the first time you talked to me. That diner
on sixty-six that we ended up sleeping in because you were on the lamb. You took that
rabbity, mortified girl and told her not to be afraid. Well I was afraid. I was afraid to
the deepest part of my bones. I was afraid that the world would run me by and never
look back.
But you know all this. This letter is about what you don't know. You
see, I stopped being afraid only about eight hours ago. I guess you figured I grew
a pair of balls two years ago, but the truth is, I was fearful the entire time. I thought
you would be a protector, but instead I had to hide from you more often than not.
Once you started hitting the bottle every night I would cry myself to sleep outside
in the hopes that you would not come outside and find me. Sure I indulged you and
let you paw at me with your clumsy oily hands but I wanted to rip your eyes out after.
Well, enough of that. I guess I got tired of being that wallflower girl with the
dirty hat and crooked smile. I got real tired of it once you laid that pipe over the top
of my head and knocked me out for a whole day. You lied to me and told me I fell
jumping out of a window. I can handle you taking whores to your bed, but not lies.
I can just picture you in my head right now. I bet your sitting outside on the
ground. You probably have that old blanket laid out near the car with the last beer in
your hand, reading this letter with that stupid look on your face like that time I watched
you shoot that eighty year old woman twenty four times. She died hard.
I am sure the stories will tell of us going down in a hail of gunfire, but you and I
know different, don't we Chestnut? People need their crooks just as much as they need
their heros. I guess some things never change.
Except for me.
Love,
Bonnie
P.S. That bitter taste in your beer is arsenic. Once you die I will come back and put a few slugs
in you so the rest of the world thinks you died like a man.
User Reviews
Submitted by FunnyAsCancer (user info) at 2005-10-30 05:31:59 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
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