[Write On Wednesday] Misunderstood

Write a open letter from a misunderstood character

Paris Traffic Wardens Photo by nicksarebi http://www.flickr.com/photos/34517490@N00/2743868257/

Paris Traffic Wardens

Nobody loves the traffic warden. Or the referee. Or the person who tells you that yes, it’s going to be a root canal. But these people are, well, people, aren’t they?

The Prompt

Write an open letter to the world from an unloved character


  • You can use one of society’s whipping boys, such as the traffic warden, or you can use a fictional character (such as the witch from Hansel and Gretel — try to stick to characters that are in the public domain if you’re going to publish/post this anywhere)
  • The story can be a ‘day in the life’ story, where we *see* the character in a more sympathetic way, if you don’t fancy the idea of the open letter format.
  • The open letter could be in the form of a list of things we didn’t know about the maligned character or it could be an impassioned defense of their kind.
  • The character can be sad, angry, arrogant, pleading…whatever seems right.


4 thoughts on “[Write On Wednesday] Misunderstood”

  1. Dear Humans,
    I know that you all think that I am just a blood sucking parasite, however I cannot control my insatiable thirst for blood. It all started with my Uncle Vlad, you know the Impaler, well he was definitely the black sheep in the family. He made us all look like crazy animals. In actuality we are not heartless, we just can’t help ourselves. And while we are clearing things up, first we do not sparkle in the sunlight, I mean seriously who thought of that; secondly, we do not want to reproduce with humans, especially not one who is more Emo than we are and we don’t kill our own kind, sorry Blade and Anne Rice, but we protect our family. I think maybe the only one who really got us right was Brahms Stoker. I took a leap of faith (haha) when I let him write my semi autobiography, but he did me a solid and for the most part told it how it was. In conclusion, dear humans I hope I have cleared something’s about my kind up. So when I fly in your window tonight to suck your blood don’t be mad because I can’t help it baby I was born that way.
    Count Dracula

  2. Dear World,

    What makes a coin are its two sides. What makes the world are the several points on its circumference. Your raised heads to the glaring sun or your sudden interest in your phones whenever you pass by me communicates your message well enough. Your life would be perfect without my kind.

    It’s bad enough you are confronted with my sickening presence every day. You would rather die than bear my voice. But speak I will, and for your benefit, maybe I’m happy- a very relative word- that in listening you wouldn’t be repulsed by the sores and flies and stink that is my presence.

    I awoke yesterday to fair weather and hoped it will be just as fair in your hearts. I don’t deserve your money, surely, but hopefully some sympathy would come my way. A five naira note here, the rare fifty naira note there- well, after chasing after the Honda with the tinted glass. It was a slow day like most days are. But then, I should be thankful, shouldn’t I. My ‘work’ lies in guilt tripping people out of their hard earned cash. A look at my attire is enough. So I should be grateful as Sikira pointed out with her darts of spit flying my way as she chewed her gum and talked simultaneously. All for a twenty naira reduction for that miserable loaf of bread.

    To be grateful. Isn’t that the Universal Beggars Code? We stay grateful- with the exception of the likes of Baba Wale who reject anything below a hundred naira- while you are right down condescending. Our sides are your refuse dump and you practice your insulting prowess on us. It seems sometimes that you see as as less than human. Oh, I’m sure you do.

    I have two legs and a hand, just a limb short of what most people have. I have a wife and three children, an aged father and parasitic relatives. I am not a lazy man seeking to reap where he has not sown- my ears function well enough to overhear your descriptions of me, you know. I would work if I could, but who would employ a man with one functioning arm and an acid-scarred face? Call me when you find one.

    I am human. Please see me as that.

    1. I had to go back and read this again after I had finished it. There was so much layered into it that I wanted another pass.
      I was struck by “Isn’t that the Universal Beggars Code? We stay grateful” and the fact that you started a story about begging with what seemed like a metaphor about a coin.
      The plea at the end (so little to ask) was very moving after you had shown us his reality.
      Thanks for posting this.

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