Yours lovingly, Alan
Ammi, the angel held me gently in her arms as she flew towards the heaven, last night. We drifted through the mist, and spiralled through the sky, away from the ringing knells and the gurgling whimpers of the sea. I could still hear yet another friend of mine letting out an inhuman shriek as he sank deeper into the ruins of the home he was born in and for a moment I felt guilty for having drowned, for having died an easy death. I asked the angel, if she'd fetch him too, for then him and I could play in heaven without getting scoldings from you. But she only said, "His soul is the one even God cannot mend."
Abbu, you once told me that heaven is the most beautiful place in this universe. It sure is, for it looks like our home. I miss you. I wish I could tell you how happy I am. Though at times I hear bombs exploding through the night and my eyes at times see illusions of Sana Didi getting hit by bullets in the Mohammed Street, but angel tells me I'll soon forget them with time. I think I don't want to, because that would mean forgetting you too.
Me and Rahim, play all day and all night. There's never time for sleep and it feels as if the time has stopped. Maybe it's fleeting very fast and we've lost the track of time because all my friends are here and in the absence of parents we plot a new mischief everyday.
Everyday the angels arrive, leading a procession of ghosts, some faces I know well, others I don't. But abbu, why aren't they happy to see the beautiful heaven? Why are they crying?