Cross-posted 'cause all the cool kids are doing it. 8)
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You may be curious as to why I'm writing you. Or more, you may be curious as to who this is. I promise, my cloaked identity is not meant to deceive you; I just need someone to listen. I need someone outside of the black hole where I reside in Louisiana to know that's happening here, even if you can't tell you where that is exactly.

Alas, that's where I am now, you see. Even with 12 years away, it is somehow still my home. Even without my parents, nor much of the town I knew, it is somehow still my home. I've luckily come across a few people that I remember from my childhood, and some who knew my parents well, including a man I've become quite close to both personally and professionally. (Is being a vigilante gang member a profession?) 'Course I have to keep those two quite separate, as I've become his most trusted adviser, and I just have far too much pride to let the parade of girls throwing themselves at his feet affect how well I can protect my family. My parents always did the same, even if it meant sending away their daughter for years, and it is the only honor I can carry on their behalf.

I'll admit, when I first got here, I hated every inch of this town from my very core. The evil that'd grown from under the rotting soil had destroyed... everything. But, then I wonder.. was it here all along? Was I too young to see it? I don't even want to know anymore. Just like I don't want to know who pulled the trigger. "Wrong place, wrong time." That's what the cop said. And yet, I've found myself within the very thing I'm bitter with the most - gang life. Violence. I'd like to say that our organization is different, more noble, because we're taking up arms where the police either can't or won't go, which.. we are to in a grand way. However, it was so easy to be brought down to that bastard level.

For instance, I was wondering into town one day, lost in my thoughts. Thinking of her. It was her birthday, after all, and she wasn't there to enjoy it. The others were hot to trot against a rival gang that, to be honest, might as well have come from Hell itself. And as they started in on this rather large black man in front of the record store, I was hesitant.. cautious.. and then, vengeful. Because really, for all I knew, this was the man who did it... and as I raised my arm, baton in hand, the thought of her face flashed across my eyes and I knew I was striking him for her, for my mother. It was satisfying in a way I can't describe.

Anyway, thank you for listening. In my moments of detachment, I forget what it feels to be human, and writing you makes me feel like I still am.

Until next time.

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Idea inspired from a novel called "The Perks of Being a Wallflower" by Stephen Chbosky that I read about 10 years ago, and I still highly recommend it! http://www.amazon.com/Perks-Being-Wallflower-Stephen-Chbosky/dp/0671027344/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1241230531&sr=8-1