I decided to go with 4 entries instead of 5 to make it easier to vote. Thank you to all the entrants! Please let me know which entry you think should be published in DEAR CASSIE. Voting ends 1/11 at 12pm PST!
Entry 1 C. Isabel Bandeira
My Dad sucks.
Thanks to him, I’m doomed to an eternity of creepy-stalker-like
peeking in on my boyfriend as he sleeps on top of a mountain.
Oh, I know the bards are telling the story the way he wants them
to—that I just loved seeing Endymion asleep so much that I begged Dad
to stick him in an immortal coma. Let me be the first to tell you,
that’s the biggest load of b.s. this side of the temple. Dad’s just
afraid of what will happen if the Olympus PR machine gets ahold of the
Which is: Dad is a control freak god who doesn’t want me to have a life.
First, if your daughter tells you she wants you to grant immortality
to her boyfriend, you don’t go and put him in an immortal SLEEP.
That’s messed up on so many levels. Maybe not by Olympian “I’ll just
have an affair with someone related to me” or “I’ll fall in love with
mortals and then turn them into plants or barnyard animals” standards,
but still. My family is so screwed up.
Second, oh my gods, I did NOT choose to be the ‘maiden huntress.’ Dad
picked that title for me. I grew out of being a tomboy a millennia
ago, the day I started wearing mini togas. Killing or sticking
boyfriends in deity-induced comas are not good ways to preserve your
daughter’s virginity. Hello, this is the third century BC. The old
ways totally don’t fly anymore. And what a double standard. Apollo
sleeps around with every nymph on the planet and Dad’s all proud that
he “takes after his old man.”
Venus suggested I just do it with Endy in his sleep and see if that
shocks some sense into Dad. He’d have to give up on the virginal
goddess of the moon bunk at that point. It’s tempting, but still
super-creepy. Gods, it feels weird to get advice like that from my
aunt-sister-whatever, even if she is the goddess of love.
I wish I were one of those normal human kids. Then, I could just run
off with Endy and we’d live in the mountains doing sheep-farmer-y
things. Like… watching the sheep graze and making cheese and stuff.
It might even be fun to be all human housewife-y. I think I can
cook—at least, as much as Hestia was able to teach me. And I
definitely can hunt. No wolves would dare come near our flocks. But,
noooooo, I’m a ‘goddess’ and have to behave like all the other good
little Olympian brats.
Maybe I should quit. See how everyone deals without a moon for a
little while. That’ll show them. I just…
Sorry, that was Mom calling, reminding me not to do anything rash to
get on Dad’s bad side. She’s never going to get over that whole being
turned into a swan thing.
I have to go—night shift is about to start. If I hurry, maybe I can
get a few minutes of stalking Endy at twilight before I have to hit
Pray for me (or is that to me? It’s so darn confusing when you’re a
goddess.) I need all the help I can get.
Lot of love,
Entry 2: Monica Fumarolo
People have said I’m mad for fourteen years, but I never really started believing it until now. Because now, right now, I should be excited. Ecstatic. Over the moon and completely happy because they say tomorrow is the biggest day of my life.They would say that, though, because they also say I’m mad. That a man in a blue box didn’t really fall out of the sky and into my life twice, save all of humanity, change everything, then disappear again. If meeting the Raggedy Doctor and helping him save the world weren’t the biggest days of my life, then I really don’t think a wedding can top that.Even if it is my wedding. Even if it is to Rory.Amelia Pond became Amy Pond, and now I’m about to become Mrs. Amy Williams. I think I had an easier time accepting the fact that the Doctor landed outside this very house in a time machine that looks like a police box.And that’s the thing that makes me start to believe that everyone else really was right about me all along. I mean, Rory really is great. He is a good guy and he loves me and he’s all kinds of dependable and reliable and stable. He even put up with an entire childhood of being forced to play Raggedy Doctor by me, trying to bring my imaginary friend to life just to make me happy. If he was willing to do all that, even when we were just kids, then I know that he’ll do just about anything for me.I know that we’ll have a very nice life together here in Ledworth, with him as a nurse in hospital and me doing…something. I’m sure I’ll find something…Only that’s not true. I’m not sure. Because as nice as Ledworth is, it’s just Ledworth. Here I’m the crazy girl who was a kiss-o-gram and stayed up all night in the garden when she was a little girl, waiting for a time machine to come take her away because an equally crazy man who ate fish fingers and custard promised he would come back.He did come back, technically, I suppose. He came, the Atraxi left, and there’s no longer an alien living in my house (I hope). It was dangerous and insane. It was brilliant. And I want more of that. I want to have big adventures and do more impossible things and see more impossible places. I want to know who the Doctor is and why he came here and why he picked me and why he stopped and took the time for me and a crack in my wall.
I want to see more cracks in the universe, whatever that means. It sounds like something that only ever happens once in Ledworth if you’re really lucky, and now that it has, how can I ever dream of something so big happening in my life again as long as I stay here?When I say it like that, though, it sounds all wrong. It sounds like I don’t even care about Rory, but I do. It’s just…it’s hard to say what it is exactly. I’m scared. I know I want to marry him. I do know that, but it’s tomorrow. TOMORROW. It’s really here. Years of dating, months of planning, and there’s nothing left to do but wake up in the morning, put on that dress, and walk down the aisle. It’s only a few hours away now.What I guess all of this comes down to, though, is a plea for more time. More time for something to happen. The first time the Doctor left, it was hard. I suddenly felt even more alone here than ever before, even more so than when I was just the Scottish girl trapped in an English town. I still refused to give up on him though. I waited twelve years and then something amazing did happen. And now it’s been another two and I think if I had more time, I could keep waiting if I knew for sure that it would mean incredible, impossible things were in store.But wishing only does so much. It can’t make time machines show up or adventures unfold, so it’s probably just as well that I go to bed because tomorrow it really is time to grow up.Or maybe not. Because I just looked out the window, and you’ll never guess what’s in the garden. Or who.
Dear Blank Page –
I’m only filling this page in hopes that one day someone will read it and know everything I felt for her.
Despite the inability to blink, or talk, or show emotion, she’s my everything. Tucked up against her sweet heart at night, listening to her breathe, feeling her warmth, the memories remind me of how lucky I was.
I don’t remember my humble beginnings, only that I came to life at the store the minute she inserted the stuffing a clerk handed over. Little Emma laughed at the way it tickled her, smiled as she chose what I should wear. She never saw a grimace as the clerk sewed me shut.
Since that day, Emma kept me close. She pushed me into her backpack every morning, liked how I sat on her lap during Kindergarten classes. She always put me on the swing next to her at the playground because the other kids didn’t know what to think about her missing leg, leaving her with few friends. Held my body in the air against the bullies who made fun of her. I’d watch her grow, listen to her most inner secrets, keep watch over her at night. Together we practiced handwriting, lovely tea parties with dolls and the stuffed dragon, watched cartoons on Saturday morning.
Emma laughed so easily. A tickle, the thrill of jumping into a pile of leaves during fall. Shaking a finger at the cat for seeing me as a personal pillow. Her eyes always shined with the joy of youth. How she loved her hugs and kisses!
I was in the car that day. She’d forgotten me in the seat, excited about the first day of class in a new grade.
But life has no way of telling us when it all ends. She jumped out of the van, falling forward and never got up. Her mother rushed Emma’s tiny form to the hospital, paced the hallways even as she held me tight, her nose buried in my fur to keep the smell of little Emma close.
I don’t understand all the words, but things like “congenital” and “heart” were thrown around.
I miss the smell of Emma after a bath, being dragged through mud, dancing to strange little songs, trying to whistle for the dog. I miss her whispers in my ears, the tight hugs during thunderstorms and watching the snow turn the world white.
Now Emma sits in the coffin, waiting one last time for me. Her mother whispered into my ear that I would never be separated from the little girl I love so much.
If anyone ever reads this, know I love Emma, and will keep her safe in the dark.
Let me first say that writing in diaries suck. No pun intended, since I’m Damon Salvatore, the best vampire that ever trolled the Earth, and the absolute king of sucking—blood that is—and yours if you laugh about me writing in this stupid thing. But with Klaus up to…well Klaus debauchery, all this witchy voodoo going on with Bonnie, along with werewolves, vampire hunters prowling Mystic Falls, and let’s face it, Elena being sired to me, I’m admittedly not my usual stellar self.
Don’t kid yourself though. I’m still awesome and infinitely more dashing and intelligent than my brother Stefan of course—just, well, confused. You’d think after 150 years I’d have a better handle on this weak emotion stuff, but since I met Elena, my vampire swagger is turning into some serious pussy shit. That’s what I get for allowing my humanity to shine through. And since I’m baring my soul—whoops, don’t have one of those. Since I’m spilling, sometimes I feel like going back to the days of my don’t-give-a-shit-ness and late-night parties where I partook in lapping up the blood buffet line at chez Damon. Those girls I compelled to enjoy the sting of my bite expected nothing from me. None of that love crap or feelings.
So what’s stopping me?
One word: Elena.
And if you’re curious, dear diary, about why if Elena is so special that I don’t just go for it? Well, I tried the whole love thing once before with Katherine. Didn’t work out so well. And who am I to try being with Elena anyway? She of all people who thinks with her heart—even after it stopped beating. I’m just not wired that way. And I’m not gonna start going around kissing babies and opening shelters for lost kittens if we hook up either. I’m Damon Salvatore, damn it. I may be able to quench my blood lust and drink plasma from the bag for a while to make her happy—because she’s worth it—but being with her isn’t going to change who I am. And I definitely won’t be like my brother Stefan—I don’t want to be like him and eat chipmunks and road kill blood for breakfast.
Speaking of Stefan, how does he get brownie points for being the good guy? What part of him being the ripper don’t people understand? Even Caroline is all Team Stelena. And I don’t begrudge my brother for his inner Mr. Hyde. So Stefan goes on bender, raging murder sprees. Shit happens. I of all people get that. He’s a vampire not a puppy. Point is? We both are. So, why do I get all the bad vampire rap? People need to back the hell off on the ‘Damon’s the devil’ crap.
Bottom line? Stefan loves Elena. I love Elena. And last I checked, three is a crowd. Things are gonna end badly because like they say, anything good and worth having, is worth fighting for—and worth the risk of losing. So, brother, if you stumble on this rambling note I wrote after drinking way too much whiskey, know this: I’ve decided that I won’t back down from what I want this time, which is Elena in case you missed it. You may have won Katherine, the self-absorbed tramp vamp, but I’ve got this. I won’t give Elena up without a fight.
Remember, love sucks—and may the best Salvatore vampire win.