Dear Mum and Dad,
Please don't be sad about me leaving home. When you've finished reading this letter, you'll understand that I've done the best thing for all of us. I have a confession to make. I'm running away from home because I can't stand to live here anymore but it's not your fault. It's because of something else. I'm really scared because I've done something terrible. Please let me explain.
First of all, I really wish you hadn't named me Melissa. You thought that was a suitable name for a girl. I think it means "sweetness" or something. I wish you'd given me a name that means "rottenness" because that's more like what I am.
Oh sure, I can put on a cute smile, and show good manners, but it's all an act. I'm not really sweet, or cute, or well mannered. I'm full of spite! I've hidden it so well you never realized what I was really like.
And it's not all Cynthia's fault, even though I'd like to blame her for everything. She's always done things that rubbed me the wrong way. Mum, you said it was just a personality thing. She said there are some people in the world who are made to never get along. They just can't help it. They're like two magnets when you turn them round. They repel each other. Cynthia and I were like that. As soon as we met I knew I hated her.
Sometimes I thought Cynthia did it on purpose. If I came to school with a red hair-tie, so did she, only her's was bigger than mine. If I did a drawing of a pony, she did one too, only her drawing got all the praise from the teacher and mine didn't. It was like that with everything.
But Cynthia's gone now and I think you should know that I'm responsible. I know you may not believe me, but it's true. To understand how, I have to start with something that happened to me last week.
I was looking through one of those magazines, you know the one's you keep down the end of the couch, when I found an advertisement. It was a really weird one, about getting rid of enemies. It said "Eat your enemies." I can't remember all the detail stuff in the ad, but it went something like if you sent away for this special biscuit you could get rid of someone you didn't like. It was freepost so I put my name on the form and dropped it in the letterbox.
The next day, Saturday, when you were out the back in the garden and Dad was doing Grandma's lawns, there was a knock on the front door. When I opened it there was a man there, in a black suit. He looked really mean, like a funeral director in a spooky movie. He had a parcel for me. It was wrapped in black paper and had a label on it, tied with black string.