Congratulations, Dear Friend

Congratulations, Dear Friend - English Story - Little Authors -

Congratulations, Dear Friend

The music flows in my headphones freely like waves as my fingers move briskly across the paper. I write and I write until my hands ache with unbearable pain, and still I continue. I let the words wrap me in a cocoon, far from reality. Living in the dream world is comforting. I wish I could always stay.

I close my eyes. I can’t see what I’m writing, but it dosen’t matter because I know. It dosen’t matter if the words come out mushed, it’s the thought that counts. Must seem abstruse to you, but it’s the truth.

I won’t ameliorate the words, because absolutely nothing can ameliorate the situation.

I inch away from Earth. I float through my dream, where I am in a field surrounded by large eyes, yet the tranquility is overpowering. I can feel my body let go. The eyes watch over me. They are fond of me, but they set certain rules in their universe. If these boundaries are broken, they are enraged.

Kristin was fond of me too, I remember. She had the most mystifying grey eyes, and she liked rules as well.

Kristin was conscientious and courteous, unlike many crass people these days. One in a million, kind of. I know that’s corny, but still.

Why does everything lead me back to her? Every thought. It is binding and insane. Kristin. I miss you, my friend.

She was chirpy that evening, more then usual. Her brown hair, which was usually in a neat bun, was let down then, in a cascade which hung from her shoulders. Her face was twisted into a rare grin (you would understand if you knew her, the always serious, mature type of girl) and she was on the edge of the front car seat.

Her seat belt lay hung loose, unnoticed as she narrated the incidents of the day and how she had won the Olympiad, which had always been so important to her. One of her rules was to always focus on studies.

Abruptly, bang! Head-on car crash.

Kristin and her mother were dead on arrival. I remember touching their cold hands.

 I was in the back-seat. I watched everything go down and lived to tell the tale.

“I wish I hadn’t, my friend.” I write on the paper, which will be a final letter to Kris. “Congratulations. On winning the competition.” I finish. Maybe my endless tears can seal the envelope.

She focused on studies, but the driver in the other car that caused the accident evidently didn’t focus on driving.

Like I said before, nothing can ameliorate the situation. Kind words won’t bring her back. But while I grieve, I can avail of my imagination. It wasn’t a cinch, as I hope you can conceive, but I do try.

Back in the dream…back to the eyes. Kristin’s eyes.

By Hansa Simalti

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Congratulations, Dear Friend

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