Dear Aunt Jess,
By the time you read this, I will be dead and you will be a widow. That is, of course, if you ever open this letter. I know that you've never liked me and I don't blame you. I wouldn't like me either, if I was you. Do you remember the day you started hating me? I do. It was the same day Uncle Aaron started liking me.
Uncle Aaron.
Even as I write this letter, I'm picturing his perfect dirty blonde hair and bright green eyes. I'm imagining his NASCAR AIN'T A SPORT T-shirt, the one whose sole purpose was to piss everyone off, and the tattoos that snaked up his arms in intricate patterns.
I can still remember the day. I was nine. You were twenty-eight and pregnant with Kathy and Uncle Aaron was twenty-five. You, as always, were keeping score for his community baseball team. You sucked at it. I'm sorry to say it that way, but it's true. You simply didn't understand how the game worked. When I pointed this out, I became you're replacement.
From then on wherever Uncle Aaron was, I was. He took me to baseball games and demolition derbies. He took me to the range and taught me to shoot. He even gave me a small, pink .22 for my seventeenth birthday. He really shouldn't have taught me to shoot.
I was eleven when things changed. We were at my house, again. Uncle Aaron and I were watching old videos, waiting for his brother to remember that he had a daughter to come home to. It was a late. I was so tired. So tired that I wanted to cry, scream, and pass out, all at the same time. I refused to sleep because I wanted to be awake to scream at my father when he finally stumbled in. Aaron was kind enough to offer to help me into my pajamas. I agreed. I'd never put on a pair of pajamas slower.
From then on nowhere was off limits. A brush against my developing breasts, a hand thrust between my legs for a fraction of a second. I even spent the night at your house when your brother-in-law was spending the month in jail for his latest public intoxication charge. I don't think Aaron even slept that month.
Aaron spent more time at my home than he did at yours. My pajamas spent more time on the floor than on me. You hated me so much for it.
Then it stopped. Suddenly, a month ago, it just stopped. You must have been pleased. Aaron no longer took me anywhere. I watched no ball games, saw no cars crash, and my pink .22 sat fully loaded. He no longer wanted me.
Would you like to know the reason he gave me? You, Aunt Jess. He said he was tired of hurting you. This, of course, was bull shit. He'd been hurting you for nearly 8 years. Why was he so moral now? And then, suddenly, the answer came to me.
I was too old for him.
I know that when he left you at home to be with me it was hard, but you can not even approach the pain I went through. You knew love. I didn't. My mother was dead and my father was nowhere to be found half the time. Aaron was a shock to my starved system. It was like I was slowly shriveling up, dying of thirst, and he gave me my first drink of water. When he took that away... I can only describe it as unbearable. Being completely wrenched apart, over and over again, and screaming until your throat is raw and you can taste the blood.
This didn't have to happen. This could have been stopped. I know you had your suspicions, Aunt Jess. You chose to protect your husband, Kathy, and your own reputation over me.
The purpose of this letter is simple. I want you to remember. I want you to know, without even the shadow of a doubt that this happened. I will let no one hide behind the vague memories that will only get more and more unclear as years pass. I want you to have this piece of tangible evidence to be forever hidden in your dresser drawer. It is to you that I give my confession, Jess. You, who knew and did nothing to defend me in life will defend me in death. You will let no one think of this as a senseless crime. You will protect my honor.
It truly is the least you can do.
And now, the pain ends and the calm before the storm takes its place. By the end of this day I'll partially unload two bullets from my pink .22, the family will be in mourning, and the evening news will be all about the tragedy at the ballpark.
On the bright side, just think of all the money I am going to save Kathy on therapy bills.
Your Niece,
Annie
Hi there ShadedLight
Let me know if you have any questions.
Just popped by to give your story a little more love! It looked a bit lonely.
So I quite enjoyed reading this. As Tybalt said, it's quite an intense read and I love that you decided to write it in the form of a letter. I think that just makes it hit home more because it's almost like you're addressing the reader and then suddenly the reader starts feeling guilty about Annie's situation.
My only, vaguely minor point, would be this. I liked that, for the most part, you didn't make Annie a victim. By this I mean that she wasn't bemoaning the fact that she was abused, she felt like she was loved and that seemed more real. This letter read like she was heart broken because she lost a great love. I think that works for Annie's situation and once she is starved of that attention she reacts badly. However, sometimes you lose this throughout the piece and slip into the trap of her talking like she knows she was abused. For example - 'You, who knew and did nothing to defend me in life will defend me in death.' Makes it sound like she wanted her Aunt to stop it, which is contradictory to the fact that she felt she loved her Uncle. So I think you need to go through and strip the story of these instances and build more of Annie's dillusion up. Then like...wow...you'd have a good piece.
Anywho, hope that was helpful
Bex x
Wow...
I thought this was a very intense piece. I liked it. There's something kind of different about it... I mean, obviously the topic you're writing about is different in itself.
The only thing is, you pack a lot of stuff into a little letter... it's fine the way it is, but if you like this story you have I would encourage you to expand on it, make it a short story or perhaps even a novella or novel. It's up to you, of course, I just think that would give you lots of room to expand on the situation, the characters, and turn it into something more powerful.
There were just a couple of little grammar-things I noticed:
"It was a late."
I think the "a" just needs to be deleted... or you could add "night" to the end. In any case this sounds funny
"I know that when he left you it was hard but you can not even approach the pain I went through."
Again, this doesn't sound quite right. It's not necessarily a grammar thing even. The easiest thing to do would be replace "approach" with "imagine", that would sound better. Or you could try rewording it and use "approach"... I don't know...
That's about it...
I liked the end. I can just imagine it would have really struck a cord with Aunt Jess.