The events and characters of this story are figments of my imagination. Truly, I have no idea where I get this shit. I need help.
Should someone see themselves as characters in this story, it's either a huge coincidence on my part or guilt and shame on your part. Yet, for those who are truly shameful and guilty, don't despair, oh miserable ones. God is saving a special place for you, one that is much darker than your personality and more deeply disturbed than your thoughts.
*
Whenever I can, I promise, I'll drop you down some ice. Only, by the time it reaches the depths where your soul remains in burning eternity, the ice may turn to boiling hot steam. In that case, I'll send you extra ice...and you thought your stories were hot. Give my regards to Dante, to all the Popes of the Catholic Church, who took pennies from the poor to build the glistening gold of Vatican City, and to all of our political public servants. I'd wear sunscreen and bring marshmallows if I were you.
Edna's father John continued reading his daughter's hot mail to his wife, Jean.
"Listen to his, she told everyone on the Fictionrotica site that she was taking a year off from writing anything. She tricked everyone into believing that," said her father. "Only instead of writing stories under her name of ShortFusedAndNasty, she's been using stories written by her friends and posting them all under the name of BongoLark II just to win the $500 and to buy more cheese doodles, no doubt."
John looked at his wife with a face full of disappointment.
"She's 30 years old. It's time for her to get a job, her own place, and to be on her own."
Now, there are those who will write that I am a sore loser or have sour grapes towards the winner of the 2007 Fictionrotica Great Divider Contest. Yet, when someone has a pure heart and unselfish reason to win a contest for the betterment of the neighborhood and to build a clubhouse for the poor children to play, then I disagree with you. Besides, cheating is cheating and there is no place in a competition for cheaters.
Just as Jose Conseco, Barry Bonds, and Roger Clemens, et al, of the hundreds of baseball players, football players, and every professional athlete in every professional sport, who have enhanced their performance by using illegal steroids, it is wrong for someone to submit stories in someone else's name just to win a contest. How can you live with yourself knowing that the words you submitted were not your own?
Besides, it is not only me who you have cheated by writing stories in conjunction with others to post under your name, BongoLark II, as your own stories, there are all of those people who finished behind me and who you have selfishly chosen to displaced for your own personal benefit just to win this contest and to buy more cheese doodles. How could you do that to all the other contestants who worked so hard writing their stories? How dare you? Who do you think you are? Get off your fat ass, get a job, and go buy your own dame cheese doodles.
Yet, I won't waste my time being bitter or angry. I'll just refrain from reading anything that you write no matter what name you chose to use and I hope all those others who participated in this contest and contests prior and who followed the participants in this contest will have the forethought to refrain and boycott from reading your writings and the writings of your accomplices, too.
We all know who they are. You just have to look to see who wins the contests. It's the same characters over and again. The rest of us don't stand a chance of winning, not the way that these contests are designed and rigged. Occasionally, a newcomer will win a contest and that's a fluke. Only, is it a fluke or is he or she just another one of the group who is writing under a different name? Yet, you dear writer, I know that your story was better than the one who was voted to win. I voted for you, but to no avail. Don't waste your energy feeling bad because the contest was a sham and your story truly was deserving of the award.
I happened to have the good fortune of meeting BongoLark II or ShortFusedAndNasty or whatever is her name. She was there standing at the Dunkin Donut counter. Never having met her before, I knew it was her. There was a look on her face and instantly, I picked up on the lunacy that plagued her. She was ordering 3 dozen donuts for an outing she told the clerk behind the counter. After I was given my small black coffee, I followed her car, a blue Ford Escort station wagon that listed to one side due to her enormous weight. I felt bad for the driver's seat and could hear the springs moan as she slowly drove along.
She pulled into an empty parking lot and parked her car in the distance away from all the other cars. She was gorging on the sugary confections. Fearing the worst, I tried to make it to her car before she had a sugar high, but I was too late and she was too strung out on carbohydrates, calories, and sugar.
