Christopher Bang
Barrennjoey Road,
Sydney,
Australia.
March 11, 1960
Dear Christopher,
Did you make it to heaven or hell? I crave to surmise heaven as I ponder on the days at which I envisioned you as an angel; faultless and flawless. A pure, pristine gem that needed a band, almost equal in perfection, to sit within.
And I never truly thought that I was worthy, but with your charming jargon and handsome build, you made me to believe that I was, so you fit yourself into me. You fit your emotions into mine; you cemented our hearts so that we became one. You were a sublime being renting the flesh of a mortal.
But the devil himself was once an angel. And you, Christopher, convinced me that Lucifer himself was your targeted competition.
So I cannot draw up the conclusion that you made it to heaven. I cannot tell if your angelic mask was enough to overshadow your demonic undercoat and earn you a spot in the stereotypical setting of eternal joy.
But, despite my personal dilemas and objection to yet fully accept your death, I am trying to use your situation to my benefit. Your mailbox is what I now consider to be my outlet, because I know that you will not judge me. You cannot judge me.
Therefore, I shall fill it with the emotional outbursts that I am not allowed to express to any other, as I fear the possibility of overwhelming some, or tarnishing my name as a woman in this part of town. The very least that I can do is inundate one of those who inundated me.
I know that you may never be able to read this, Christopher. But maybe your family will grow curious in your mailbox one day. Or maybe the new owners who will eventually move into your house will locate these letters.
Either way, I do not bother. They may just realize what an idle person I am, or rather, what a tired person you made me to be.
They may even point fingers in my direction for your death too. But that is no unendurable path. It is not as though they know me like you knew me. So in the same way that you cannot judge me because you are dead, they are not allowed to do so because they do not know who I am as an individual.
But, Christopher, I think that I have made enough of an introduction for today. I shall be sending you a letter everyday that I face mental trials.
That's all for now. Rest well in heaven or hell, Christopher.
Sincerely,
A.
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Letters | ✓
Fanfiction( Bang Chan ) ❝Rest well in heaven or hell...❞ ┈┈ mistopher | 2022 ++ Dealing with grief isn't always easy. And it's even more burdensome when no trace is left of the lost one, and not even a peep of funeral plans from the grapevine reaches the ears...
