Mrs Romeena (II)

Dear Mrs Romeena,

Can you tell me what happens to people when they die? Papa won’t tell me but he puts me to sleep believing that mumma would come to me in dreams. He tells me funny stories too! He talks about the Queen of blueberry muffins and a land where the bed sheets are made of strawberry tinted ice creams. Imagine rolling over the cream and never feeling nasty at all. Just all the time smelling like strawberries and strawberries! I asked him then if there were any more strawberries, I would like to paint the blue walls red. I told him I would squish out the red  juices onto her dull blue walls. But you know Mrs Romeena, he didn’t let me paint them! Mrs Romeena, he won’t even let me touch them at all!  I asked him why and he said he liked the gentle blue walls better and the red color would be too noisy for the place. I wish Mrs Romeena, If you were with us, you would have told him that he was wrong and red would have indeed looked delicious, at-least to you. I also told him that colors do not make noises and he was a fool.

But Mrs Romeena, tell me what happened with Tiffany? Papa was crying a lot when she died. He kept on saying that “she left me too” and didn’t eat for 2 days. It is difficult fot me to imagine that and I do not understand it at all. I mean, I am with him and you are with us too, right? We all can live together like mumma, Papa and I used to live earlier. But this doesn’t answer my question again. What happened to Tiffany, Mrs Romeena? I overheard Uncle Jeff talking about something like a ‘heart attack though’. I think she died in some sort of a game. After-all who can attack people in their hearts,  aren’t they supposed to be hidden away from people who might attack them? And then I thought it deeply and concluded that you are better off with some burnt bones instead of troubling your nerves over protecting your heart. Oh heavens! I am worried about my heart but it is funny!

Alas, you are a dumb creature, Mrs Romeena. You can’t tell me where my mum or perhaps, Tiffany stays. For I like to die someday too. But I think you are a little habitual to me like I am to my strawberry milkshakes. I saw you following me to the bathroom that other night. For once, I would have run down the whole hallway screaming towards daddy. But then, recognizing your never-blinking bloody eyes and those bug-inflicted hair, I walked back to my bed silently and decided to live with you after-all. Don’t behave anymore strangely now and please don’t try to grab my legs in sleep or I’ll tell Papa and he’ll call a priest.

Yours only,




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