Dear Clara

1.

Dear Clara,
You deserved a better funeral.

There were scarcely ten people present. I remember you telling me that the worst way to die is to die without achieving anything in the life you have lived. I know, we were pretty philosophical for 17 year old teenagers. I gazed at your coffin without any expression while your mom and dad clung to each other and cried their hearts out. I have never seen them so broken.

It was raining heavily. You hated rain and I loved it. The raindrops would have masked my tears had I cried. But I did not. No tears came. I felt nothing. I just thought of how peacefully you went to sleep, without taking me with you.

To others, we have been best friends. We were inseparable. When I became sick, you did not leave me to suffer. You sat by me and sang Selena's "Who says", in the worst voice possible. You cried with me, you laughed with me. We watched the sunset together.

I don't remember telling you this before. I love you.

I love you more than anyone in this world. I am not letting you go. I am not forgetting you. You are going to stay with me. I am writing to you in this diary. I know you can't reply, but that's okay.

Right now, I am sitting on the terrace, watching the sun sink behind crimson clouds. I imagine your long, dark hair ruffling in the wind. Your green eyes sparkling with laughter and joy.

My symptoms are getting worse. I don't know what is going to happen. Mom is miserable most of the time. I am scared. I sometimes think of dying. It is getting dark now. Mom will be calling me soon.

I am not letting you go, Clara.

Not now. Not ever.
With love,
Mel.
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"Melinda, come down now!" my Mom shouted from below the staircase. I closed the small leather bound diary. It's emerald colour reminded me of her eyes. I got down slowly and went downstairs. The pills rested beside my dinner plate. I sat on the chair, picking at the food with my fork.

I could tell that Mom was anxious about something. Before she could say what it was, the phone rang. With trembling hands, she picked up the phone and went to the living room. I could hear her hushed voice. "Not now Henry, she needs us." I realised she was trying hard not to cry. I could tell something was going to go wrong because of me. Because of what I have.

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Author's note:
Hi guys. If you have found my story and actually read it, thanks a gazillion. It means so much to me. This is my first attempt at writing a book and English is not my first language. So, go easy on me. I welcome constructive criticism and suggestions. Do vote and comment. ❤️