Letter 3 | The Dark Diary


Happy Independence Day! I am feeling hurt, right now. I had a good mood in the morning. I slept in pain. How are you? Do you think of me? In the morning, a man said to me that I did not have anything to tell that I took intoxicants. I said to him that fire always looks harmless, but it does not mean it could not take you to suffer in no time. I said that I had no intention to ask for more things, which just make you suffer.

Someone asked, “Don’t I feel angry because people I care about stop me from showing what I have become somehow? I answered, “I can’t add more to my sufferings by hurting them. However, I have waited for their desires to fill me with numbness. I ask them to pray to their faiths because I will watch them burn with a drink. I will not die before listening to their screams. I will enjoy their pain. I will cry for my pain, but everyone will suffer and die. They should wait not for me to accept the things I run away from. Rest will feel exactly what I feel. Pain!” Dear, I have put my love in the wrong people. I gave them power over me. No more!

I don’t talk about my feelings of hate, rage, guilt, despair, secrets, change, and comfort. The only reason I don’t is that people use them for their acts. You showed me that rare virtue, which people don’t see anymore in anyone. Virtue is acceptance. Come, dance with me to the sacred music of your desires. People want the average. For them, below and above, don’t come in their understanding. I tried to be all three, and I was outcasted. I tried to understand what others understand. I was taught to be soft with family and hard with the family they live in. They forgot the truth that I was not born to be with the mass. For me, it is either everything or nothing. I can be either a savior or a destroyer. I have a white or black. Everyone has their parent nature. But everyone is considered normal. For years, I tried to be reasonable as they liked. I was still asked to be normal.

I was seven years old; I learned how to read and write better than my sister. I experienced my first sexual arousing on the eve of my birthday. I had had a problem sleeping, and nighttime was a golden gate to know about my family business. I used to read in secret in the toilet (s). We had a separate washroom for each room and one near the exit gate. That used to smell like the fragrance from my mother’s kitchen while preparing meals. Always hungry. Always enlightening.

I read repairing manuals, magazines, and cult novels there. That night, I was excited because the next day was my birthday. To be honest, I never liked my birthday. I felt a sudden need to be on my bed that night. I was taking steps to my bed, and then, I heard voices, coming out of my forced uncle. I got curious. I wanted to see. I had no interest in the act they were engaged, but the woman had my attention. Her skin simply white-reddish, legs longer than my height, hair messed up, breasts just needy for a touch, fingers were long and blood-thirsty, and she was beautiful.

For a few moments, she was just there only and for me to admire. When I felt I got enough. I left with a fire ignited and my new curiosity. People lie when they say that they can’t remember memories. They just don’t want to be judged. I became a peeping-tom that night. In the morning, I was playing with a match-box and ended up burning myself hard. My birthday caught fire.

Dear, stay with me. This time I can’t afford to speak everything and raw. Here people know me. I sensed that old fear in some of them, I felt when people sensed that I have no life like them. Everything or nothing!


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