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Letters to God by Archaic Aphorism

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If you think I'm a great and honest person, or if you look up to me in any way, I suggest you don't read this, because it will, more likely than not, change your opinion of me forever.

As with everything else on this site, and, oddly, this site alone, I am brutally honest. I am going to tell you things I've never admitted to anyone before and some things that probably were very incorrect for me to think or do, knowing what the consequences would be.

Heh, I'm actually very iffy about posting this, because I feel like maybe these are things that I should continue keeping to myself. It's comfy to confide in strangers, but not so comfy that all my inhibitions come crumbling down. I also feel a bit like an attention-seeker by posting a journal, which is not an idea I'm particularly fond of (been there, done that, you'll find out later) so... um...


(written in the form of letters addressed to a God I'm not sure exists)

God (because you are neither 'dear' nor 'mine'):

Sometimes I wonder about you. A lot of the time, I'm cursing you for trivial things that you probably had nothing to do with. On rare occasion, I'm getting on my knees and thanking you for something you, also, probably had nothing to do with.

I think it's strange, that I attach so many events in my life to you, blessing you and spiting you in turns.

You probably don't know who I am, and I don't expect that you ever will, but I'm writing you this letter as I sit here while I nurse my mug of coffee and reminisce about the things in my life that I attribute to you.

Call me Archaic. I'm about to tell you some of the darkest secrets in my life.


Do you remember when I was little? Yes, back when I was so small I spent most of my time staring at knees, dragging my little Siamese-kitten-doll around? No, you probably don't.

I was too young then to know what you were, and I was too young to have been noticed by you, but I associate you with those times. Did you know that? Those times when we lived in a cramped house in a sort-of neighborhood, where the neighbors had big, burly dogs that scared me and gunshots and sirens could be heard in the night? Do you remember the pitiful, starving mother cat and her babies next door at the old abandoned house? The way they used to mewl at night, right outside my window?

I look back at those times, when walking with Mommy the two blocks to Checkers and getting a thing of French Fries was the highlight of my day, and I thank you, God, that you got my family out of there before my sister was two. Before she was old enough to remember the stained carpets and the bedroom my parents made out of the garage. The way everything smelled like mildew and dirt and how it was always dim inside.

Thinking back, now, I realize that the few times I have honestly been grateful towards you almost always revolve around my younger sister. I doubt you even know her name, either, so you can call her Puck. Why she uses Puck as her username on most sites nowadays is beyond either of us, I believe. I never bother to ask.

Do you want to know what else I am thankful for that you might or might not have had a hand in? Probably, because being thanked always feels good, whether or not you had anything to do with what you're being thanked for.

I thank you for that time I pushed my sister down the stairs at our new house, because she was getting on my nerves, and I thought it would be like that comic book I'd read, where the character rolls down, head over heels, and gets up, stars and birds whirring around his head. I thought it would be funny to see her tumble down all seventeen blue carpeted steps. This seems like a strange thing to thank you for, but I thank you nonetheless.

Because my sister cried, and stood up when she reached the tiled floor at the foot of the stairs. She cried, and there was a nasty goose-egg on her head for weeks, but she was okay, and I thank you so graciously for that.

When Mom and Dad came to the foot of the stairs, cradling my three year old sister- maybe four by that time, I was never good at keeping track of either of our ages- and they asked me what had happened, Dad with that stern look in his eyes that said: Answer me, or you will be punished later (though I was probably going to get punished later, anyways, if I told them the truth).

I'll tell you about what punished means later, because I'm just focusing on my thankyous, this time around.

When he looked at me like that, I opened my mouth, closed it, then mumbled:

"I don't know. She just fell."

Dark, dirty little secret. What's worse is that I didn't care. Sure, my heart seemed to drop out of my body, leaving a panicked empty space, when I saw her tumbling down the stairs, but as soon as she got up and cried, I was angry with her, because if she told, I was in trouble.

Maybe it's just a little bit sick, but I thank you that she was only three, or maybe four, and didn't understand that it was my fault or think to tell our parents.

I don't think I'll ever tell her, or my parents, that, because they have enough to hate me for, as it is. I'd rather not give them more reason.

I thank you for looking out for my sister when I was foolish and thoughtless, that time when she was singing into the plastic ice cream cone like a diva and I, thinking it would be a fantastic joke, threw plastic vegetables at her, booing and shouting that she sucked and needed to get off our make-shift stage, and one hit her in the eye, cutting the cornea. Thankyou for making sure her eyesight wasn't damaged, and thankyou for giving her such a good temperament for a five-year-old, that she didn't hate me.

I thank you for fixing my sister's pigeon feet, when they used to turn in and she walked funny. I didn't notice that was the case with her when I was a kid and she still had it, but I look at the pictures now and it makes me want to cry a little.

She's a phenomenal athlete now- a star runner fixing to join the track team at her new school- because sometimes I think you might have had something to do with that.

I thank you for reigning in my temper for those long years when I despised my sister like nothing else in the world, because I was a violent and vengeful child- I'll discuss where those tendencies came from when I discuss the meaning of punished- and I thank you for not bringing my sister into an age where she would clearly remember things until after my parents had patched things up between them (another issue I will tell you about later, because they are not a thankyou, my parents). At least she won't remember the things I remember.

I thank you, God, for looking out for my sister, the way you didn't always look out for me. I don't mind, though. I know you're busy, what with a billion people out there, all clamoring for your assistance. I'm just glad that you occasionally turned around and saw me before I hit an incorrigible low, plucking me out of it before it was too late. Thankyou for watching over my sister the way you never did me.

At moments like this, when I think about the things I am thankful to you for, it's easy to forget why I spend more time cursing you than thanking you.



So, uh... a bit melodramatic, though all true. Some things sound worse than they actually are (the dreaded "Punished" and "she won't remember things I remember" aren't as awful as I made them seem).

Yup. This is just me joining the bandwagon, because I do so enjoy jumping bandwagons, occasionally. Simply a journal, in the form of letters to God, recounting things that I've done which I could never tell to my close friends or admit to my family, but that I feel need to be said.

As quoted in the summary, "There's something... comfy... about telling secrets to strangers who'll never know your name."

Thankyou for reading.

I'm agnostic, but send your good will out to my little sister. She's such a sweet girl, and she still looks up to me, even after all the crap I've done.


By the way, this will catch up to my present life. Eventually. There's just not enough drama right now for it to be worthwhile, seeing as it's summer vacation and my social life goes *poof*, and my parents are away at work, so it's just me. Nothing interesting happening there, 'cept my dark mind that I am definitely keeping to myself... 'cuz I don't think the world is ready for that, just yet...

Besides, most of my dark little secrets I haven't told anyone yet lie in my past, so I want to admit and own up to them first.

Um... if you don't believe in God or you're not Christian... neither do I. I just thought it was an interesting way to do this. So, yeah. Please don't be offended or anything, yadda yadda. There will be much screaming and cursing at whatever God I am speaking to (maybe he's Allah?) so if you're overly pious and think you will be offended by me calling Him not-so-nice names... I suggest you don't read, because I'd rather not get flamed over something like religion.

If anyone really really thinks it's a bad idea for me to use the "letters to god" format, then just say so calmly and I'll think of something else to do and change it up, okay? But I think this is okay...

Anyways... I'll probably always have a little ruse at the bottom of each letter just to mention stuff about my stories and how they're coming along, stuff like that.

At the moment, I'm beginning to work on an AU Neji x Shikamaru fic, the first completely AU fic I've ever written (aside from the one I got two hundred words into before my computer crashed).

I'm also protesting any further work on What I Never Had. Why? Because I stupid eff'ing goddanged (string of cuss words) saved over it with a blank document, so now I have to start all the way over, and that just makes me mad. So it'll probably be a very very very long time before that one gets updated...

Oh, and regarding that fic, I'm thinking about changing the title from What I Never Had to Methods of Malady. Why? Because Methods of Malady will make it easier for me later for reasons I won't tell you, and because I just think it's a bit catchier... and I can, comically, call it the MoM series, if I use that title. Here's the definition of Malady, which might not make complete sense why it works better than the title I have at the moment, but you'll get it later:

1: a disease or disorder of the animal body.
2: an unwholesome condition.

Please tell me your opinions?

Anyways, next time I'll just put some funny stuff I've noticed about my writing that maybe you haven't noticed... yet. You'll start noticing it once I've pointed it out.
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