Letter #5

Dear Bru-ther,

Call me psychotic. Call me kooky. Call me anything you feel like. I deserve it. I am not being stupid. I am just stating truth. You know I can never lie to you. To me you are my “vade mecum”. You are all that I have, who belongs to me. Mumma caught me smoking three days back and it all ended up with a heart attack. I told you I am a bad girl. Now, I am a bad daughter as well.

Two packs a day. Twenty butts in every twenty-four hours. Nice. It is sweet enough to call myself an addict. Isn’t it? So obviously the guests at home from eight in the morning couldn’t stop me from having one. Adrenaline rushing in my body took me to the terrace with two puffs along with a lighter locked in my palm. I hurriedly lit one and put it in my mouth to relax my lungs who were craving to get contaminated from past one quarter of the day. The moment I lit the other one from the previous, I heard some footsteps and dropped it on my leg. It hurt and I kinda screamed in a low pitch. That’s where she saw me. Hardly a minute and she fainted. I lacked courage to even get her up. I ran away. I ran away because I got scared. I thought I made a mistake and maybe I did. I spent the entire day and nights roaming in the lanes, hiding myself from the world. The only thought that was running in my mind was, “What if I had lost her, all because of my sins?” I had no idea what was happening back home. Every PCR in the location made me anxious, as if it was there to catch me. I had just 100 bucks in my pocket. I bought as many cigarettes as I could. I lived on them for three days. It was my water, my food and my oxygen. I returned to my place after I saw her walking back home holding Papa’s hand. I haven’t seen her by now nor did anyone turn up to see me. Nice family, right? Everyone is busy in their own stuff. No one pokes their nose in others’ matters. Sweet. Surprisingly, I am still smoking. You should dip my heart in liquid nitrogen and then smash it until its powder and snort the powder. This would be the most appropriate thing to be done by you. Why are you so silent now? Why?

Why aren’t you here? I hope you are no more a fictional character and come into life someday. I hope I hug you and cry on your shoulders. I wish you are here. I wish you existed.

Miss you.

With love,
Lil-sissy.

Letter #4

Letter #6

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