Dear Courtney,

“My dress was soaked with the slippery wetted road in Mayhem. I thought I was parading with the other women here. Yet, I escaped this hell of a home. I cannot wait to see you again. I am on the train 25 and the bay was bluer than the usual. The clock strikes at 12 in the afternoon. The sky was breathtakingly painted in the canvas with the clouds' fur orbiting each other.

I sat here, while the greens, I cannot take my eyes off. It was a first time for awhile, but it was always nostalgic with you here. The trees stood there, and the train moving in its monotonous pace. This time, I am thanking this train for its urgency. Maybe, he wants us to see each other again. Just you wait, Courtney. Tomorrow, we will see each other again.

It's dawn and the morning breakfast was here in front of me. It is a complete set. Just like what you like. Tea, toasted bread, egg and tomato. Ah, I thought I saw you sleeping here beside me. Am I doing it again? Wait for me, dear friend, for I will see you now.

There the trees and the mountain facing me. The scenery is telling me a story. A memory of you and me. Ah, dear friend, it is almost evening. I hope you're thinking of your friend here while you're taking a sip of your wine.

The train stopped and I am here now, Courtney. I hope this letter reaches you, dear friend.”


“She's really a writer, huh?” The nurse said while she reads me Cordelia's letter. I nodded and smiled.

“How was she?” I asked. The lump in my throat was heavy that I could not breathe.

“She's resting peacefully in the bay of Mayhem, Courtney.” The nurse then held my hand.

“Do you think she's happy?” I asked her again.

“Hon, her eyes will give you life. Of course, she is.” She kissed me on the forehead and pushed my wheel chair.

“You will have life again, Courtney. I will see you after the operation.”


My dress was soaked with the slippery wetted road in Mayhem. I thought I was parading with the other women here. Yet, I escaped this hell of a home. I cannot wait to see you again. I am on the train 25 and the bay was bluer than the usual. The clock strikes at 12 in the afternoon. The sky was breathtakingly painted in the canvas with the clouds' fur orbiting each other.

“Thank you for your eyes.” I whispered and tears began to well up. The wind hustled and the trees hurried to drop its leaves out.

I took out my notebook and pen. I wrote how the scenery by the bay gave me comfort.

Cordelia, I hope this letter reaches you.