**This is how I won my fifth LitWit Challenge. Werd.
To My Dearest Everhard,
It never occurred to me to just leave you in that forest to rust. But that was a surprising blessing until that bitch from Kansas came along. You know, you were stupid to go on that mission with an ax as opposed to an umbrella. I could have sent you off with one, but I had faith in your macho posturing ways, and it was faith well placed!
Corrosion never crossed my mind! But it rained, and your oxidation was divine! It was the very comfort of my liver, the sunshine in my pockets, the very promise of peace in between my legs until little blondie came along and made you mobile.
Oh cheese it. It looks like you’ll have to stick with the plan all along. Remember how you promised me a heart that will reciprocate? You promised me a beating heart that will resonate with the harmonies of my, well, my undying love. You promised me a loving heart that will sing a duet with my affections. You promised me a heart that will validate your end of this relationship. You promised me a heart, and you believed it will be worth the adventure.
How very daft. I was just in it for the sex. And I hated it with the same livid passion as the East Witch has for falling houses. And that is why I’m writing you this.
You were always hard, sure, but it turns out that nothing beats real muscle all along. Tin is, well, scary when it penetrates. It’s scarier when it punctures. And that’s assuming that you know what you were doing in the sack. Your foreplay rusted way before you did in that forest. I’m sorry that you have to hear this now, but you are both a health hazard and a lousy fuc… fetish. Seriously, dude. I’m getting sick of the transmission fluid every time we do the kinky. And the fractures. And the smell of polish. And your pervy oil can sex toy.
I am now blaming myself for living in with somebody with a hard on in all the wrong places. Everywhere, for that matter, and it was a real drag to my hemorrhoids. Truth is, you weren’t much for anything. We had plenty of firewood, sure, but that won’t keep this lovebird in place.
I am mailing this letter, by a wish, to the General Postmaster of the Emerald City. And I hope this reaches you by the time you get your heart from the Wizard. You don’t know he’s a poser with this fog machine, and that is why I sent you off to him in the first place. Never mind that he gives you something as fake as his magic. Symbolic my ass; I honestly wanted you to have a heart all along.
This is because I’ve always wanted to break something in you. Which ought to serve you right for all the broken bones you gave me every time we do the missionary.
As Wasted as the Great Sandy Waste,
P.S. Leave me alone. Don’t try to flying-monkey your way back to me. I also have a pair of those ruby slippers, and I know exactly how to use these babies.