The Letter and the tormented soul

He drenched the quill leaf in the ink bottle and shakes the liquid with his hand. He hesitates for moment and shrug aside his fury, 'Should I write the letter or not', glancing at the neat and white paper. Maintaining a calm posture, he slinks on the bamboo chair and neck perched towards the table, penned the first thoughts that came to his mind.
He wrote few lines, picks a slab of cement and laid it on the paper so as to prevent the gush of wind to thrust the materials far away. He got up from his chair, walked to and fro for few minutes and lit a cigarette. He peered at the scenic view, gazed his sight on the hill, sky and trees before going back to the bamboo chair. He breathes heavily, lit another cigarette and buckled his mind to the white sheet of paper, dipped the quill leaf in the ink and swayed with the flow black-and-white. His eyes was red with fury and poured his heart on the not-so-blank sheet of paper. The paper has lost its white sheen and has gained a black colored composure. How he wish his life would move away from darkness and edge in myriad colors significance. It's been six months he is struggling to move away from the life of deceit, darkness and he had decided to put an end to everything. It was time to vent out his feeling and let them know how he is feeling inside. He has been sitting on a volcano that shall erupt one day and was determined to vent out his anger and frustration. The silence was tormenting his live, the utter loneliness was gnawing every moment of his life and told himself, 'This has to end and even if they are hurt and humiliated, the whole thing need to be destroyed. Today, I will let them know that I can no longer repress my feeling. Let calamity come and exterminate everything.'
He folded the letter and slided into his deep pocket before walking towards the gate that bears a strange silence. It was past midnight and the vicinity wear a deserted look as he feels a gush of fear and pain down his spine. He shakes the old gate that is stuck in the rut to make his way inside the yard where the grasses are unkempt and the lamp guided him to her house. He bended on his knees and gently places the envelope on her door steps.
The old Majid woke up at 5 a.m  and gulped his cup of tea hastily before attending his daily chores. He entered the yard and as he traipsed through the small dwellings, his eyes beamed at a nicely folded letter which he diligently opened lying at the tomb of Jennifer. The letter reads, Dear Love I wish I could hate for making me suffer in hell and hate your God who took you away from me.

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