Dear Clara in 20 years,
Please don’t be afraid to let your children explore. Don’t let yourself down for forgetting anything you wanted, what I want now.
Please do the right thing. I have a bad feeling about what the future will hold.
Dear 14-year-old Clara,
God, what I would do to go back to then. At least to change one thing. Things do get better, but you have to leave that stupid village. Its a bad place for you, Clara. After they killed Father, there was nothing left. You’re old enough to take care of yourself. You just survived an attack from the Raptors. Get the hell out of dodge.
Don’t make the mistakes I did. I stayed, tried to fit in when I knew I couldn’t. Mother found another man and created another family. Don’t get attached to Em. She’ll be fine without you. I know she’s only an infant, but you need to stay away. You’ll get into the Tree Folks if you leave now.
Please think about it.
The prompt sat in front of her like a curse. She didn’t want to write it, but she had writers block against her story for NaNoWriMo and it was only the first day. The writer had her word count already, but she wanted to write more. Tossing back her long, red hair she stared at the empty blog post.
“When was the last time you felt really, truly lonely?” she read the question out loud. “When was that?”
Her fingers began to flow over the keyboard, writing about elementary school when she sat by herself at lunch and then onward to when her roommate wasn’t home yet. Those were her loneliest times. The times when she felt like she was being pushed away from everyone she loved. Those were it.
The post wasn’t very long, only four or five paragraphs, but it was enough for her.
“Happy NaNoWriMo and NaBloPoMo, Sally,” she muttered, pushing publish.
Who do you think you are?
You with your online school,
You with the interesting nose,
Who do you think you are, calling
someone a racist?
It was constructive criticism.
Haven’t you ever seen Mean Girls.
Your heritage has nothing to do
with your class or demeanor.
Welcome to Top Model.