Of Dictionaries and Space Monkeys: WordGirl Oneshots

Yours Untruly

[Saved Draft:]

Date: February 13, 2003

Subject: A note from your most brilliant arch-nemesis.

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Dearest WordGirl:

I hate you.

There, I've said it. Did it surprise you? Good.

I'd say I hope I don't come off as insulting, but to be perfectly honest with you at the moment, I don't really care.

I don't suppose you would really care, either. That's part of being enemies, I believe? Not taking to heart what the other has said? Good. Allow me to say a few more things you likely won't care about, then.

You are perfect, in every sense of the word. Has anyone told you that yet? Of course they haven't. They're idiots. They idolize you as they would any lower object of their affection—they cheer, they rant and they rave, but at the end of the day, they still haven't the slightest idea who you are.

And before you wonder, no, this is not about your secret identity. I still say I know it, you still say I do not, and frankly, I'm getting a bit tired of our constant bickering about it. I'd be content to agree to disagree. Shall we do that?

Here is another thing you won't care about my saying: you are beautiful. You are not even human, and yet you meet and surpass all levels of human excellence in terms of appearance as well as intelligence. Is it a superpower of yours? You seem to blend in well with the Earthling people around you. If there was some way to, perhaps, take away the luminescent stars from your eyes or the gloss from your hair, you might even be able to pass for an ordinary human, almost.

I despise you, do you know that? I hope you do. We are mortal enemies, you and I. Though, I must say, I'm afraid I will always be the more mature of us two.

Would you like another comment you should not take to heart? No?

Too bad. Here's one anyway: you are blindingly intelligent. Blindingly. Only I would be equal to you in mental prowess, and even then, using your super-speed to absorb an entire book in moments rather gives you the upper hand.

Am I jealous? Perhaps. But you insist on using your abilities to help the imbecilic citizens of this town, so that somewhat lessens the feeling.

Has it occurred to you that protecting the idiots that roam these streets is, by all logic, a waste of your time? It probably has. You know they will never be able to give anything back. They may claim to appreciate you, but they do it blindly—when do they really know what you've done for them? When do they see the years of your life you've given up for them? When do they realize the sacrifice you've made to keep them from harm?

They don't. And you know they won't. Even with your idealism, surely you must realize that they are never that insightful.

Perhaps you willingly ignore this notion. That would explain your continued heroics, along with your moments of exasperation with this city. Did you not think I would notice it? The way you look at the people who accuse you and praise you all in the same handful of hours? I do. I think all of us who have the slightest inkling of intelligence can see it quite easily.

And yet you go on. You continue, because whether it's in your heart or not, your actions show only goodwill. It's admirable, really.

Not that you'll care I said that.

I do despise you. But with intelligence such as ours, I cannot but acknowledge the genius of another.

It is evening as I write this. I am no longer foolish enough to think you might care, or confident enough to give you a chocolate heart. The only thing I am giving you are my wishes that you will experience the best of tomorrow.

Yours untruly (seeing as I am not yours, and will likely never be—selfish genius cannot belong to an ethereal do-gooder like you),

Your most brilliant arch-nemesis

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