An Open Letter.

Dear Year 10s,

I have forgotten your names, that's how inconsequential you are to me. That's how little you ever meant. Like the gnats flying around the corpses of my herb plants, I could squish you between my fingers if I wanted. Your substance is thinner than the smoke from the bubblegum vapes you puffed in the bathroom and more noxious than the smoke from the cigarettes you little shits are all addicted to. God, I wish I were a giant so that I could stomp you and evade the subsequent authorities that would come after me if I attempted that in human form. 

And yet, you rise to my mind unbidden tonight like an unfortunate jack-in-the-box.

What gave you the right to eat my Onceler cake?

Do you know how much effort I put into that cake? I spent three nights, three FUCKING nights, I invited Cherry over to decorate - do you KNOW how rare it is to pull Cherry away from homework? She's as addicted to it as you are to nicotine. We seldom hang out together, apart from in group settings of at least 3 or more. But no! We went to Coles together and bought fondant and TimTams for cake decor! We took Route 25 back together! We made pleasant conversation! 

And you ate it anyway.

I didn't give you permission!

Allow me to set the scene. I was newly 18, only last week or so. My friends and I had gathered at the first table on the front lawn of [REDACTED] High School. We were all in the final years of our schooling. In each of our napkins was a slice of the Onceler cake that I had made as a joke. It had an icing sheet of Daddy Oncey on it surrounded by piping hearts and little roses. The grass (habitat to the froggy that my table had informally adopted) was wet with previous days of rain, lush and freshly cut, and the sound of schoolchildren yelling and talking and throwing things was familiar and safe. Our three flags (the Australian flag, the Indigenous flag, and the [REDACTED] High flag) were hanging with some degree of pride from the masts. The bell was about to ring and I wanted to see if Fatema (who was in the Senior Learning Centre) was interested in some of my cake (the Onceler is, believe it or not, halal). 

I left for FIVE seconds to walk over to the gates of the Learning Centre to ask if she wanted me to save her a piece.

When I got back, you both FINGER DEEP in my precious boy.  My green little man. Your little teenage fingers, a knuckle deep in icing and sugar. Smarmish grins on your face. Grass on your scuffed Doc Martins. You had no right to be there. I hadn't invited you. Our turf war over the middle lunch table was nothing compared to this insult. You had gone too far, both of you. Your blue shirts and navy checkered skirts were mould to my eyes and I wanted to curb stomp your asses so hard at that moment, right then and there, front lawn, before the whole of the front office and the whole of [REDACTED] high school and all of [REDACTED] Street and the [REDACTED] Racecourse to all see. 

Instead, I just froze in the face of your audacity and stuttered out something like "Why are you so bad?"

To which you looked at me with confusion. Admittedly, I have been more verbose.

I awkwardly explained this question. "You're just terrible people, aren't you? Why do you feel the need to do this? You don't even know me. Why can't you just be decent?"

I don't think you quite knew what to say to that. Or maybe you did, and I've just forgotten. I haven't really thought of this incident for at least a year. I was blissfully unaware, studying Optometry in a distant university secure in the knowledge that I was doing well and that you were probably dead in a ditch.

To be honest, I must admit that it gives me no small amount of pleasure to imagine the worms eating your bodies like you ate my 18th Birthday Cake. I wonder how you would feel to be consumed without your consent. Maybe you should have spared a thought as to what Oncey would have thought as you dug your spindly hands into his body. His little iced face holds more consciousness than both of your selfish, brutally careless, inconsiderate heads. Granted - I would not be surprised if the both of you were lacking in empathy. You had it out for me for less reason than iLoveFriday had it out for Mia.