Original Fiction: Dear Daddy
So this is something that just sort of emerged after going back and rereading prompts from GYWO. I don’t even know - it was intended to be a journal entry and in a sense I guess it is? It also finally got written something like two months after I first had the idea/read the prompt, but still. Figured I’d go with it, really.
I suppose at some point I should probably make it into something halfway palatable. Until then, however...
Title: Dear Daddy
Fandom or Original Universe: This Broken Hallelujah (Original universe in which I’ve spent the last year or so playing)
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 555
Brief summary: A letter from a teenaged Elle to her absent father.
Brief warnings: Do emo fifteen year olds need a warning?
Writing Prompt: January OYTAWL Challenge
Elle Carter, age 15, to John Carter
Dear Daddy,
I don’t know why I’m writing this stupid thing. I mean, you’ve made it clear that you don’t care, that you want nothing more to do with me. Which is fine, I get it. I hate you for it kind of a lot, but I get it. At least, I think I do. I mean, I kind of want nothing more to do with me, too.
I killed my brother. Mom’s trying so hard not to say that, not to let me know, but I do. I let my baby brother die. Why would you want to see me?
I wish it hadn’t happened. I mean, obviously. I wish every day that he was still here. Mom does, too, but that’s something else she’ll never say. Never let me know that i”m not enough for her, not any more. I killed my brother and chased my father away. It’s a miracle she’ll talk to me at all. I don’t think I’d be able to, in her shoes.
I said earlier that I don’t know why I’m writing this, but that’s a lie. Doctor Thompson - you don’t know her, but Mom took me to go see her after Doctor Martin lost his license - says it’ll help. I don’t think I believe her - I think she’s been to one to many AA meetings, with their whole “making amends” spiel, but what do I know? I don’t have a psychology degree, after all. Don’t want one, either. Not after all the shit I’ve had to put up with from therapists the last few years.
But, still. Doctor Thompson thinks it’ll help and I might as well, I suppose. It’s not like you’re ever going to read this, so it can’t really hurt. Can it?
I’m sorry, Daddy. I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough, sorry I couldn’t save Asher. I’m sorry I couldn’t be a good enough daughter, that I made you have to leave. I’m sorry for all of it. I’m sorry and I’m scared and I don’t know how to handle it. They don’t teach you this in school, don’t tell you how to get rid of this gaping hole in the pit of your stomach, how to deal with the empty place in your life that used to be full of Asher and Daddy. It’s been three years and still sometimes I can’t breathe it hurts so much, missing you. I hate you for that some days. Did you know that? But it’s okay, because no matter how much I hate you, I’ll always hate myself more. That should make you feel better.
Doctor Thompson is a quack, apparently. I don’t feel any better. I don’t miss you guys any less for having written it down. I don’t like myself any more. I’m not any closer to forgiveness than I was yesterday. Instead I’m sitting her in an empty room and crying over a letter than I’m never going to send.
You know how I said that some days I hate you, Daddy?
Today is one of them.
But I think I still love you even more. Which is somehow worse. You’d think I’d have gotten over that by now.
Guess I haven’t.
Love you
Hate you
Always
Ellie
I suppose at some point I should probably make it into something halfway palatable. Until then, however...
Title: Dear Daddy
Fandom or Original Universe: This Broken Hallelujah (Original universe in which I’ve spent the last year or so playing)
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 555
Brief summary: A letter from a teenaged Elle to her absent father.
Brief warnings: Do emo fifteen year olds need a warning?
Writing Prompt: January OYTAWL Challenge
Elle Carter, age 15, to John Carter
Dear Daddy,
I don’t know why I’m writing this stupid thing. I mean, you’ve made it clear that you don’t care, that you want nothing more to do with me. Which is fine, I get it. I hate you for it kind of a lot, but I get it. At least, I think I do. I mean, I kind of want nothing more to do with me, too.
I killed my brother. Mom’s trying so hard not to say that, not to let me know, but I do. I let my baby brother die. Why would you want to see me?
I wish it hadn’t happened. I mean, obviously. I wish every day that he was still here. Mom does, too, but that’s something else she’ll never say. Never let me know that i”m not enough for her, not any more. I killed my brother and chased my father away. It’s a miracle she’ll talk to me at all. I don’t think I’d be able to, in her shoes.
I said earlier that I don’t know why I’m writing this, but that’s a lie. Doctor Thompson - you don’t know her, but Mom took me to go see her after Doctor Martin lost his license - says it’ll help. I don’t think I believe her - I think she’s been to one to many AA meetings, with their whole “making amends” spiel, but what do I know? I don’t have a psychology degree, after all. Don’t want one, either. Not after all the shit I’ve had to put up with from therapists the last few years.
But, still. Doctor Thompson thinks it’ll help and I might as well, I suppose. It’s not like you’re ever going to read this, so it can’t really hurt. Can it?
I’m sorry, Daddy. I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough, sorry I couldn’t save Asher. I’m sorry I couldn’t be a good enough daughter, that I made you have to leave. I’m sorry for all of it. I’m sorry and I’m scared and I don’t know how to handle it. They don’t teach you this in school, don’t tell you how to get rid of this gaping hole in the pit of your stomach, how to deal with the empty place in your life that used to be full of Asher and Daddy. It’s been three years and still sometimes I can’t breathe it hurts so much, missing you. I hate you for that some days. Did you know that? But it’s okay, because no matter how much I hate you, I’ll always hate myself more. That should make you feel better.
Doctor Thompson is a quack, apparently. I don’t feel any better. I don’t miss you guys any less for having written it down. I don’t like myself any more. I’m not any closer to forgiveness than I was yesterday. Instead I’m sitting her in an empty room and crying over a letter than I’m never going to send.
You know how I said that some days I hate you, Daddy?
Today is one of them.
But I think I still love you even more. Which is somehow worse. You’d think I’d have gotten over that by now.
Guess I haven’t.
Love you
Hate you
Always
Ellie