Write a diary entry or letter from the main character of your work in progress.
I don’t know you and I know you don’t know me, but you know my sister. Remember April? That kid you had once upon time? You’re memory might be a bit hazy depending on what drugs you’ve taken today, but I’m here to refresh your fucking memory.
It’s taken me years to get a hold of this damn address and, to be honest, a part of me wished you were dead. But you’re alive and well now that you don’t have the shackles of parenthood holding you down.
All I’ve ever wanted was to give her the peace she needs to close the door between the two of you. Then I realized you don’t deserve to hear from her. You don’t deserve to see who she’s become. But you deserve to know the fucking damage you’ve done.
She was fucking ten years old and I was, what, two? It takes an entire new level of filth to do the shit you’ve done. I don’t remember that night. I don’t even remember you, but she does. She remembers it all. And I have wished every fucking day of my life she didn’t because I can see how much it’s destroyed her.
What pisses me off the most is that she still doesn’t hate you, not the way I do, and maybe not at all. If you came back for some God forsaken reason, she would welcome you with open arms, despite the shit end of the stick we’ve got. But as long as I’m around, I want you to know I will never let that happen. She may have raised me and protected me through everything, but there’s not a moment I wouldn’t hesitate to do the same. Including making sure you never get to see her again. You are not my god damn mother and you will never be hers.
From the bottom of my heart, I hope the mistakes you’ve made eat you alive from the inside out.