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Original writing Essay

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I desperately waited for the answer. “Laura… has been murdered” I was speechless once again… come on honey, think, you’ve been in this situation before. My brain started to hurt, I was in utter confusion. She was only 9 years old and she was a Buddhist, she had no health problems, she had no enemies… well not that I could think of… 20 seconds from then has just gone passed without any speech, I received a fax from the south, it was a picture, I took it, I gazed at it in horror.

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What I saw was something that would never leave my mind. It was a picture of my best friend, brutally murdered…

a piece of her body probably her arm had been cut into almost equal boxes of about 10 cm each and placed in a certain way to spell something… something that still continues today…. the LTT. LTT is the Liberation Tigers of Tamil, a terrorist organization in Sri Lanka that began in 1970 as a student protest over the limited university access for Tamil students; currently seeks to establish an independent Tamil state; relies on guerrilla strategy including terrorist tactics that target key government and military personnel; “the Tamil Tigers perfected suicide bombing as a weapon of war”.

They attack the southern part of Sri Lanka where there are many Buddhists, Muslims and Catholic. I never thought the LTT would have gotten this far…. but they have. The questions and the disappointment that reached my brain were agonizing. I thought she trusted me, I thought she would tell me everything, I thought she would never doubted me. I thought she told me that there was NO ENEMIES, although I did know she had her little plans for peace, but not clearly. That instance I realised… all these years of knowing each other was a bogus …

we didn’t really no each other… if we did… then why am I so confused? 1. Today is the 22nd of August 2002, 9:15 pm. I stared at the newspaper in my bedroom. The newspaper… I remember it’s the last thing we were talking about before we left, you were very clever for your age, I valued your words highly, I sure didn’t seem to care about them, but I did keep it in my head, that’s the only thing I have to remind myself of you. Remember once you were reading this newspaper about enlightenment?

You gave me the English section; I thought it was pretty stupid, I remember reading it, and putting it away. Do you also remember the next day you went home angry at me for putting curd in your shoes and tying the shoelaces together? I felt bad okay, I waited with the newspaper for you to come back and give it to you, as stupid as it may sound of giving you an old newspaper, I kept it in a way to apologize to you after annoying you and show you that I do take care of your things…. but you never came back.

I can’t ask you anymore, the answers to the questions, the answers to this mystery, and the answers to life. I can’t talk to you no more, Mum will think I’m gone insane because only mad people talk to a newspapers. But then I wouldn’t mind because if murdering people is how sane people are, then I’d love to be insane. I can however read it to you; this page will always be in my mind. I’ll hold you to my ear so you can tell me what happened, but I know newspapers can’t talk. I’ll draw you in the newspaper and then you can talk…

But only computer animations do that. Remember yesterday when you flew over to the temple through my window, and you were floating with the wind? Remember I ran after you screaming and shouting your name? Remember people staring at me, thinking I was a stupid child running after a newspaper? I don’t care what they think, what matters is what I think, I think of you, I’ll cuddle you, I’ll die for you, you are that one person that I ALWAYS trust, that one person who is very dear to me, even if you are just a friend, you were part of the family.

Sorry for all the things I told you, it was a misunderstanding, you understand right? That’s what best friends do, that’s what humans do. Please come back, at least give me a clue pointing me to the direction of where this happened, maybe how the angels pointed to the illumination church in Vatican city just like Dan Brown says in his book of Angels and Demons, but yours with newspapers perhaps? Remember when we played this little game of treasure hunt in the back garden? Please tell me this is one of that, you know I hate mysteries, then why did have to leave me mystified?

Give me the answer to this mystery, I’ll try my best, point me towards it, whatever, I’ll find my way, I know you will guide me so I won’t get scared. I’ll promise you I’ll do whatever you wanted me to do; I’ll play lots and lots of treasure hunt games with you, even if I think it’s stupid. Are you satisfied now? Please come back. Please tell me this is a joke. I’ll email you, but I can’t, I don’t have your address, There’s no point in emailing you because maybe you don’t have computers up there or you just don’t a email account.

Is it [email protected] com? You have to live in a place you have computers to read my mail. I can’t send you a post card or a letter can I? I don’t have your address; do you have a postman up there? I’m sorry I spilled water in your painting, I hope that’s not why you went, I promise I won’t do it again, you know I’m clumsy and that’s how I learn. Only I know how painful it is to tell you this, but I regret shouting at you, annoying you just because I was bored, I know you were joking those times but I took it seriously.

But anyhow and anyway I wish you were back. I’ll staple my mouth so I won’t scream at you and loose you again. I read this newspaper over and over again, to see if you had left me a clue, the only clue I found was heaven, is that it? If I keep this, it will remind me of you, I’ll place it carefully and keep it organised the way you like it. I’ll make sure your letters won’t dissolve in my tears. I should stop now, I wouldn’t want to wet you, don’t worry I’ll look after you.

I take care of you like you took care of me and stood beside me in everything I did. Oh how I wish you were back. Please, please, please come back. I miss you awfully.

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