Scarlett's Letters

Beloved Rhode

Beloved Rhode,

I'm writing you another letter (wow, I honestly can't believe it).

You would be ashamed of me (or maybe you would laugh and say "You little devil!").

I lit one of the "empty" warehouses on fire. It burned down, all the way to the dusty ground in a pile of shimmering ashes. I don't know what came over me, I don't remember even thinking it through, I just did it. I remember the smell of matches, and the spark and flicker of a starting fire, then... nothing. I ran to Commander Wren (the head honcho here) and told him the warehouse was on fire, not sharing how it had come to be like that. He looked at his guards and laughed, he laughed at me! Right in my face! They didn't believe me; they thought I was making stuff up.

But then people came running. "The warehouse is on fire! One of the warehouses is on fire!" And Commander Wren gave me this look like He couldn't believe it. It made me way too happy. Well not happy...pleased, satisfied maybe? I just wanted to show them that I wasn't stupid or crazy, that I didn't make stuff up.

Later I found out the warehouse wasn't as empty as I had assumed, not a lot but a truckload of animal feed and few bags of corn were destroyed. And I don't even feel bad. It just leads me to wonder if the corn popped into popcorn (I just realized how unimaginative that word is) before it got burnt to ash. I honestly couldn't care any less about what I did, the provisions I ruined, the people who I could have hurt. And all this, my beloved Rhode, leads me to the conclusion that I, Scarlett Smiths, am going to Hell. Who does something like that and doesn't feel bad? Makes jokes about it? Someone that it truly demented, that's who.

I must run; it's dinner time and if I don't show they'll think I'm starving myself too death. As if, I can think of various other, better, less painful and time consuming ways to die. Sorry, you never liked it when I talked like that.

Hellfully Yours,

Scarlett

P.S. Enjoy these hand-typed letters, enjoy them.