Status: Loved writing this one shot!
Hate Mail
Chapter One
Chapter 1-
Ugh. Another terrible day at repulsive rehab.
I have been in the glorious Children Hope and Help for a Better Future Center for two whole weeks now. I haven't had any visitors, not even my parents. I guess they couldn't find time to see precious little Destiny for even ten minutes.
The only people I talk to are the chef, Mia, and my overweight roommate, Fiona. She is only hear because of some issues she had at her old school with some girl. I don't even bother to listen to her half the time anymore. Who cares?
Anyway, the only communication I've had with anyone outside this place is an anonymous note I received this morning. It was sent to my mail box number from someone in Shelbyville, where I live. But, I can't read the exact address because it was smudged on the way here I suppose. It says:
Dear Destiny,
I miss you terribly and would like to hear back from you. I'm sorry for what I did, although you don't know what happened. I know what really happened that night.
Sirens wail as I stare at my little sister, Ivy. She lays there, motionless in the rigid pool in the backyard, face down.
My eyes flood up as I dive into the water, desperate to save her.
I hear a police officer yelling at me to get out, but I can't listen.
"Is she alive?" he asks trembling.
I whip my body around, holding Ivy in my arms wedding style. Her beautiful pale blue eyes are open and I shut them. She doesn't move or breathe.
"I-I don't th-think so," I reply between sobs.
I walk over to him quickly through the water, and hand her over. He appears to just be a rookie, and I can see he wasn't expecting this. He is just as scared as I am, except he can't show it. I can see through the small light at the ladder where he stands that his name tag says Officer G. Prego. He lays her down on the concrete surrounding the six foot deep pool. He listens for a heartbeat, and checks her pulse on her neck. He slowly stands up, and takes off his navy blue hat.
"I'm sorry for your loss," he says sympathetically and returns to his police car to radio the station.
"She was only eight," I repeat over and over, pouring out my tears. "She was only eight."
Ever since that night, I have never been the same. Losing Ivy was a hard loss, and my parents blamed me for her death. But, I would never do anything to hurt her. I loved her.
If your own parents believe you're a murderer, who can you trust?
They weren't even home that night, so what would they know? My dad, Jonathan, was working overtime at the office, and my mom, Diane, was out shopping for something for Ivy's birthday. She was going to be turning nine in less then a month, and we had a surprise birthday party all planned out. Mom planned it using a crap load of money she had won at the casino, and Ivy's party was actually going to be very expensive compared to the little shack we live in.
So basically, that is why they sent me here. They believe my actions of hurting Ivy was just an impulse for attention. But I swear to God that I had nothing to do with that incident.
That night, I was coming home from basketball practice and had trusted my fifteen year old neighbor, Kythe, to take care of Ivy, just till I got back. At the last few minutes of practice, he texted me from our house and said something came up and he had to leave right then. I thought nothing of it, figuring it would only be a few minutes before I got home.
But that decision cost me my best friend. Kythe never spoke of what exactly it was that came up that night, and I truly believe he had something to do with it. The police questioned him that night, and the only unusual thing about him was a fresh bite mark on his left forearm.
A week after Ivy passed away, Kythe, his mother, and his seventeen year old brother, Kyle, all packed up and moved to somewhere in Wisconsin. Traveling from Maine to Wisconsin is a big leap after something so devastating.
I doubt he sent my mysterious note because Shelbyville is far, far away from Kythe's new home.
So who did?
The next day, I responded to the letter stating:
I don't know who you are or what you're talking about, but please write back stating everything you know about the incident.I know you had something to do with Ivy's murder, and once I know who you are, I will track you down and make sure you rot in jail.
-Destiny Stevenson
Yeah, I know it's easy for this person if they are a stalker, but it's the price you pay for information. After all, maybe this mysterious person could be her killer!
The police say it's a possibility that Ivy honestly drowned in the pool, considering no one was home, but I know that's not the case. She was a good swimmer, so good, she had thought about joining the swim team. So, I have no belief of this garbage but know that her killer is roaming free. What a creep!
Two days after I sent my letter, I got a response.
My fingers tingled and my stomach fluttered somewhere down the hall as I opened it. It read:
Dear Destiny,
I know much that you do not. Ivy was murdered by me. She was a pain in my neck, and she knew information that she wasn't willing to keep secret. There was some stolen money that she knew about, and it was much easier to kill her and frame it on you, then to go to prison. By the way, Kythe was an excellent accomplice. He was everything I needed that night. He told me he strangled her and kept her beautiful little head underwater. He got a bite mark from the brat's teeth, but what can you do? You can tell the cops all you want because who are they gonna believe? It could be me, or the mental girl in rehab, who was spotted holding her body the night she died? Your prints are on it, not mine. Every time I close my eyes, your face is there.You're all I see every minute of everyday... I hate you. You're next, Desti.
With Love,
Diane Stevenson
(Just call me Mommy)
Ugh. Another terrible day at repulsive rehab.
I have been in the glorious Children Hope and Help for a Better Future Center for two whole weeks now. I haven't had any visitors, not even my parents. I guess they couldn't find time to see precious little Destiny for even ten minutes.
The only people I talk to are the chef, Mia, and my overweight roommate, Fiona. She is only hear because of some issues she had at her old school with some girl. I don't even bother to listen to her half the time anymore. Who cares?
Anyway, the only communication I've had with anyone outside this place is an anonymous note I received this morning. It was sent to my mail box number from someone in Shelbyville, where I live. But, I can't read the exact address because it was smudged on the way here I suppose. It says:
Dear Destiny,
I miss you terribly and would like to hear back from you. I'm sorry for what I did, although you don't know what happened. I know what really happened that night.
Sirens wail as I stare at my little sister, Ivy. She lays there, motionless in the rigid pool in the backyard, face down.
My eyes flood up as I dive into the water, desperate to save her.
I hear a police officer yelling at me to get out, but I can't listen.
"Is she alive?" he asks trembling.
I whip my body around, holding Ivy in my arms wedding style. Her beautiful pale blue eyes are open and I shut them. She doesn't move or breathe.
"I-I don't th-think so," I reply between sobs.
I walk over to him quickly through the water, and hand her over. He appears to just be a rookie, and I can see he wasn't expecting this. He is just as scared as I am, except he can't show it. I can see through the small light at the ladder where he stands that his name tag says Officer G. Prego. He lays her down on the concrete surrounding the six foot deep pool. He listens for a heartbeat, and checks her pulse on her neck. He slowly stands up, and takes off his navy blue hat.
"I'm sorry for your loss," he says sympathetically and returns to his police car to radio the station.
"She was only eight," I repeat over and over, pouring out my tears. "She was only eight."
Ever since that night, I have never been the same. Losing Ivy was a hard loss, and my parents blamed me for her death. But, I would never do anything to hurt her. I loved her.
If your own parents believe you're a murderer, who can you trust?
They weren't even home that night, so what would they know? My dad, Jonathan, was working overtime at the office, and my mom, Diane, was out shopping for something for Ivy's birthday. She was going to be turning nine in less then a month, and we had a surprise birthday party all planned out. Mom planned it using a crap load of money she had won at the casino, and Ivy's party was actually going to be very expensive compared to the little shack we live in.
So basically, that is why they sent me here. They believe my actions of hurting Ivy was just an impulse for attention. But I swear to God that I had nothing to do with that incident.
That night, I was coming home from basketball practice and had trusted my fifteen year old neighbor, Kythe, to take care of Ivy, just till I got back. At the last few minutes of practice, he texted me from our house and said something came up and he had to leave right then. I thought nothing of it, figuring it would only be a few minutes before I got home.
But that decision cost me my best friend. Kythe never spoke of what exactly it was that came up that night, and I truly believe he had something to do with it. The police questioned him that night, and the only unusual thing about him was a fresh bite mark on his left forearm.
A week after Ivy passed away, Kythe, his mother, and his seventeen year old brother, Kyle, all packed up and moved to somewhere in Wisconsin. Traveling from Maine to Wisconsin is a big leap after something so devastating.
I doubt he sent my mysterious note because Shelbyville is far, far away from Kythe's new home.
So who did?
The next day, I responded to the letter stating:
I don't know who you are or what you're talking about, but please write back stating everything you know about the incident.I know you had something to do with Ivy's murder, and once I know who you are, I will track you down and make sure you rot in jail.
-Destiny Stevenson
Yeah, I know it's easy for this person if they are a stalker, but it's the price you pay for information. After all, maybe this mysterious person could be her killer!
The police say it's a possibility that Ivy honestly drowned in the pool, considering no one was home, but I know that's not the case. She was a good swimmer, so good, she had thought about joining the swim team. So, I have no belief of this garbage but know that her killer is roaming free. What a creep!
Two days after I sent my letter, I got a response.
My fingers tingled and my stomach fluttered somewhere down the hall as I opened it. It read:
Dear Destiny,
I know much that you do not. Ivy was murdered by me. She was a pain in my neck, and she knew information that she wasn't willing to keep secret. There was some stolen money that she knew about, and it was much easier to kill her and frame it on you, then to go to prison. By the way, Kythe was an excellent accomplice. He was everything I needed that night. He told me he strangled her and kept her beautiful little head underwater. He got a bite mark from the brat's teeth, but what can you do? You can tell the cops all you want because who are they gonna believe? It could be me, or the mental girl in rehab, who was spotted holding her body the night she died? Your prints are on it, not mine. Every time I close my eyes, your face is there.You're all I see every minute of everyday... I hate you. You're next, Desti.
With Love,
Diane Stevenson
(Just call me Mommy)
♠ ♠ ♠
I know it's not the best or most realistic but it was fun and I hope you liked it!Pweeze comment!!!!! (Good or bad!)