Search in: Drafts
Subject: I can’t
I know email is a crummy way to do this and I’m so sorry. But I’ve tried to tell you a hundred times and you just aren’t listening to me.
I didn’t come to the ball to social climb or find a husband. I’m not my sisters. I had a solid plan – show up, have some anonymous fun, and leave early. My godmother helped me out – I was completely unrecognisable. Everything would have been fine, but you grabbed me for that dance the second I walked in and wouldn’t let me go – and you’re surrounded by yes-men. Nobody has the balls to say no to you. But I did. I left as planned. You couldn’t take a hint, and searched the entire country until you tracked me down. Absolutely no concept that maybe I didn’t want to be found.
If I hadn’t lost that stupid shoe on the way out, you never would have found me. I’ve cursed my tiny feet ever since. You railroaded me into this wedding. As soon as that shoe went back on my foot, you sent your lackeys out to announce wedding dates. You didn’t even bother to actually ask me. Maybe you knew I’d say no.
I can’t marry you. I don’t want to be queen. I just want my quiet life back.
Don’t look for me this time.
Amanda McLeod is an Australian author and artist, with work in many places in print and online including FERAL: A Journal Of Poetry and Art, Not Very Quiet, Milk Candy Review, and others. She enjoys rainy days and silence, especially with good coffee and cheese. She’s also the Managing Editor at Animal Heart Press. Find out more at amandamcleodwrites.com