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Container Labeled Negligence
One may think that, in an effort to relieve myself of hiding the truth, and to receive help from somebody, I decided to write a letter to my mother. A quick, frantic letter, that hopefully drives her to believe that I am in great danger. But really, I want her to come here so I kidnap her. My goal is to kidnap everyone who has harmed me in my life, and store them in large containers labeled with their crime. The letter reads:
Dear mom,
I have to tell someone before I turn mad! I’m so, very sorry, but I ran off with a 21 year old guy named Mike, who is already divorced with two children. I’m seventeen now, in case you forgot. Yes, I know what you’re thinking. Okay, well the truth is I didn’t really run off with him; he abducted me. And I abducted his child. Yes, I did it; I took her, and he knows it. Of course he can’t admit it, or else he’d get in trouble for abducting me. He doesn’t like his daughter enough to tell the police it was me, and he doesn’t like me enough to let me go, to be free and happy.
I’m getting really scared now, because the police are planning to use infrared aviation technology this Wednesday, to try to find her. Right now, she’s stashed in a large container under my bed. I have nowhere else to put her! So I’m asking if Tuesday night, at around 2 a.m., you could come over and take her to your house. I’m sure she would be much happier in Virginia. Mike doesn’t love her; he merely thinks she’s okay. Same with me. Maybe in a few days, you can come back for me, because I have a feeling things are going to get really rough around him.
Mom, please help me. Don’t ignore me when I’m in need, that’s why I got abducted; because you didn’t care! If you don’t save me now, I’ll be dead before they search the house. Mike will kill me. He keeps a pile of bricks by the kitchen stove—that is the pile from which I took a brick to place by the back door, in order to misdirect authorities in their search.
Love your daughter,
Mila
And now I wait with a container labeled: “negligence”.
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