Letterbomb by Solomon Blaze

This has got to be faster than the speed of sound...I think as I carve my way through the atmosphere, back to Scabhampton. It takes less than two minutes for me to arrive; you can always smell it when you enter my hometown – and I mean really smell it.

- Which is lucky, because it doesn’t look like it did when I left...three days ago...

Hovering above the streets at this height, I can easily make out the centre of town; an epic riot has broken out. I follow the stream of bedlam beneath me and quickly realise that the entire town is ablaze with the fires of what I have to believe is more than just frenzied chaos.

‘Holy shit!’ I shout to the wind.

~ Wow, I guess Shane was telling the truth... ~ Echo chimes through the walls of my mind.

‘But...’ I pause, absorbing the distant site of my home being ransacked – My home! I think, shuttling my thoughts into a torrent of paranoid horror; shuttling myself half a mile across the sky to my own neighbourhood.

My house is as untouched; thank fuck!

I drop myself onto the concrete in front of my driveway with a thud and flash round to the back door; I can’t see anyone and the sliding door is obviously locked, so I telekinetically smash the glass pane –

- Penn steps out from behind the fridge the second I step over the threshold, brandishing a bread knife and screaming like a banshee – for a second, before realizing it’s me and dropping the knife on the tiled floor, looking absolutely flabbergasted, ‘Brother!’ he yells, running towards me and constricting me with his manual worker’s arms, ‘we were sure you had to be dead!’ he carries on, holding me at arm’s length to get a good look at me; has it really only been three days...?

Ignoring all of the truly important factors here, I say ‘Penn, what’s happened to the city? Where is everyone?’

‘The others are all upstairs. I stayed down here voluntarily....Do you seriously not know what’s going on...?’ Penn looks puzzled.

‘No!’ I shout desperately, flaying my arms to the side like this is some young couple’s hysterical argument.

‘They know dude...’ Penn says cryptically, ‘they know everything.’

Pure terror cascades over me with cold realization; oh, shit...

Letterbomb by James D. Irwin

Jon opened the package. The parcel was marked 'return to sender' but he didn't notice. He was just glad to have mail--- he hadn't had much since he'd decided to become a domestic terrorist.

Letterbomb by Lesley Whyte

At first, it was just the one letter. It's always just the one letter. I ignored it, like I always did. If I ignored it for long enough, it would go away. The money would turn up, I'd pay the bill, and then it would be gone. Sure, I might incur a little interest, but the money would turn up. The money always turned up. If there was one thing my parents taught me, it was that money would always turn up.

Then they started streaming in, hundreds of letters pouring into my flat like Hogwarts letters. Yes, I am ashamed to be able to make that reference. They piled up in the corners, covered in red ink and threats. And I kept on ignoring them. The money would turn up. It had to turn up. I stopped answering the door, and not just because I couldn't open it with all the envelopes stashed behind it. Then the calls started.

Eventually, it became clear to me that the money wasn't just going to turn up. That I would have to go out there and do something to get it. Money doesn't just come to you, you have to go out and work for it. My life would have been a lot easier if my parents had taught me that lesson instead, but then I wouldn't be able to blame them for everything in my life. So, long story short, I decided what I really needed was to make a small investment so that I could earn the money I needed to pay off everything else. So I set about buying a gun.

Letterbomb by Sara Travis

Dear Joe, 

There’s no easy way to say this. I guess you’ll think I’m being a coward, doing this through a letter and not to your face. I guess you’d be right. But the truth is, I love you, and I think seeing your face crumple with disappointment and regret would just about break my heart.

I’ve had a relapse, and I need to leave town for a while. I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone, at least until they stop showing the pictures on the news. Please don’t be too cross with me. I couldn’t help myself, I just lost control. You know what it’s like. I know we said we’d try mainstreaming for a while, see how it works out, and I did try, Joe, I really did. And we had a good run, didn’t we? Five or so months, that’s something to be proud of. But you’re a stronger person than I am. You don’t give in to the temptation, you’re able to swallow it down like a bitter pill and just forget all about it. But it doesn’t work that way for me. I can’t swallow the pill. It just sits in my mouth, burning a hole through my tongue. 

I’m sorry Joe. I know nothing I say will make this any better. And I’m sorry to ask this of you again, but there’s something I need you to do for me. If you love me, you’ll put all the frustration you feel aside, and you’ll do it. And I know you will. Because we love each other, don’t we?
There’s a body in a bin bag under the porch. I need you to get rid of it. Burn it, bury it, chuck it in the river, I don’t care. But please, Joe – please do this for me. I would’ve done it myself, only I didn’t leave enough time. I guess I’m out of practice, ha! Sorry, that’s not funny. But I’d do it for you, Joe, you know I would. 

I’ve got to go, now. I’ll ring you in a few days, I’ll find us somewhere safe where we can be together. Don’t try to ring me, I’m not taking a phone. I’ll find a box somewhere and use that. Be careful, Joe. I’ll see you soon. I love you.

Lucy x

Letterbomb by Ben Hayward

Dear Mister Jones

I am writing to pitch to you my new idea for a potential hit sitcom, Lord Above. Richard Dawkin's wife takes on a new lodger, god. Given Richard's outspoken opinions about religion I feel that a lot of the comedy would come from her preventing him getting in to the attic room where the deity is staying. I feel that the excuses could get more and more outlandish as the series goes on, as each lie is invented to cover the initial lie, that the attic room is vacant.

At the end of the series I feel that it would be a great twist that Mrs Dawkins, despite being well past the menopause, falls pregnant with child. This could be wrapped up in the next series or potentially a Christmas special.

I have written to mister Dawkins and he is keen on the concept of lampooning religion. Plus his two cameos on Doctor Who more than count as acting credits.

I hope you enjoy the idea

Yours Sincerely

Day Eight

And today's prompt is...

Letterbomb