Dear 142 beautiful souls,
Need I ask how you all are? For I know that you all are in a world so beautiful, earthlings cannot even imagine. Before you get confused about who this letter is from, let me introduce myself. I am an unfortunate, disgraced human being who is living on the earth where you all once used to live. I’m that one distressed human being who remained alive on December 16th 2014 and saw you all die. I’m someone who has no idea how is it like living in the eternal paradise you all are dwelling in at the moment. I’m writing you this letter because I think I owe all of you something. I think I owe you something so grand I fear I won’t be able to do justice to give it to you, ever. Let me gather the courage to tell you all how sorry I am for all of you. Not, of course, because you are living in a much much better place than any earthling could ever find on this planet but because of all the beautiful relations you had to leave behind while heading toward your eternal abode. All of you are beautiful, brave, courageous souls.
Every time I replay the whole scenario in my mind, that dark, bloody, episode of December 16th2014, every little fiber of my existence sends a shiver down my spine. There’s not a single word I can think of which can describe how wonderfully brave I think you all are. My senses cripple at the thought of such inhumane behavior. I assure you the day you all were killed cold-bloodedly was the day when humanity detached itself from us; it stopped talking to us and went to a corner to cry its heart out. The day you all were killed was the day when the humanity was disappointed in us. I don’t know how callous a human can be but I know a human cannot be as callous as he appeared on that wretched day. I know that aggregate of insensitivity downgrades such species, outright, from being called a human being. I don’t know whose mother it was, but I remember her saying that there was only a single pen stuck in your front pocket when those brutes carrying their guns came for you. When those anger laden faces pointed the angry mouth of their cursed guns on your chest, I’m certain that your pen would have screamed for mercy. But do you know why did he still shoot you without hearing you and your pen screaming at him? Because he was deaf. Your voice was too beautiful for his ears to comprehend. I’m sorry that you had to bear the pain when the bullet found its way inside your body. I’m sorry that your blood was running on the floor when it’s your veins where it should have been running. I cannot even imagine what you all must have gone through, and I’m sorry for every single moment of that brutal episode of your life. I’m sorry, my little fellows, I’m very very sorry for all of those dreadful moments of terror. I’m sorry for all the wounds inflicted on your body before your soul departed to the place where there is no pain. I detest guns, and the sound of guns shakes my heart. I cannot fathom the sight of anyone holding a gun pointing toward me. I cannot fathom hearing the piercing sounds of gunshots killing my friends. I’m sorry for you had to hear those intolerable sounds. I’m sorry that you witnessed the summit of brutality at the place where all the beautiful minds learn to devise plans for bringing harmony.
I want to let you all know that you all are precious. I want all of you to know that the space you all left is the space too huge and too deep to get filled, ever. You all are unforgettable. I know that a tear trickles down the corner of your mother’s eye every time she sees your favorite food on the table. Your sister longingly looks at your picture. Your face is nailed to your father’s heart and every beat of his heart sends a pain of your memory to him. Nobody can forget you. Ever since you all have gone, I can’t laugh at a joke without remembering all of you somewhere in the back of my head. Every gun that was pointed toward you and every bullet that pierced your body is feeling contrite. My heart cries when I see the weary eyes of your mother desperate to find her son. I’m sorry that I find myself loss at words whenever I try to comfort your mother with my condolences. I’m sorry that you had to leave before your mother saw you growing into a young man. I’m sorry you had to leave with dreams of future in your eyes. I’m sorry you didn’t have enough time. I’m sorry the time ran short on you.
I know that you all are living in a place where there are no guns, no pain and no cries. I know that you are at peace now. I know that you are surrounded by the magical sounds of beautiful birds singing for you. But the bangs of guns in those few hours of extreme savagery still echoes in my mind and takes me back to the time when your helpless bodies were groaning in pain and you were rubbing your feet on the floor. If all the tears shed for all of you all over the world could take back the pain your family is going through, I’d plead this world to never stop crying for you. I wish I could do more than writing a letter filled with apology to you. I wish I could do more to bring justice in the world.
You all are wonderful, wonderful people. I feel so small looking at how big you all are. You all have cornered a permanent place in my heart. I shall never forget you and if the ongoing terrorism would let me live long enough that I'll get creases on my face and my hair will turn all gray, I’ll tell the story of your bravery to little children. I’ll tell them how 142 beautiful people similar to them lost their lives decades ago and their memory is still magnificent in my head. I’ll tell them to never forget you and I’ll bequeath them to keep forwarding this message of bravery to forthcoming generations. I’ll ask them to never forget you and never let you all be forgotten, ever.
Keep smiling in heaven, little angels. You belong there. Earth is and never would be a place for angels.