Dear Katharine

December 10, 20xx

Dec. 10, 20xx
8:33 P.M.

Dear Kath,

                   The investigation of Kuya Ian's murder is getting bleaker every moment. I haven't told you that a few weeks ago, Kuya Ian's name has suddenly been part of the drug watch list of our barangay even though his family claims that he was never a drug addict nor part of any illegal drug trade. A while ago, Jenna told me that Jerwin and his accomplices would have long been arrested if only the mayor wasn't interfering. Jenna is beginning to accept defeat.
                    “Do you regret filing a case against them?” I asked her with a concerned look.
                    “Kind of,” she answered sadly. “For a moment, I believed that God will grace us with justice after all things we've been through.”
                    “I guess I should have never punched Brad then because I feel like I have given you false hope,” I told her.
                   “No, that really made me happy,” she replied with a big smile on her face which immediately turned into a frown. “But yes, I was hoping that I will be able to do the same to Jerwin because for a long time, I blame myself for everything. I still do, but what you did made me realize that it's not all my fault.”
                  “Not all? You think you are at fault in some way?”
                  “Yeah. I mean, I can't help but to think that way. Maybe if I didn't do this or do that, I would probably have a different life,” she explained.
                  “Jenna, no matter what you've done, nobody deserves to be treated that way,” I  persuaded her with passion.
                 “I guess. But why did these things happen to me? I must have done something wrong in some way that God decided to punish me?” A tear strolled down her left cheek which she wiped casually maintaining her composure.
                 “I think God just made a mistake,” I answered uncertainly looking at the ground, concealing the shame that I no longer believe in the existence of a supreme being yet still fearing the consequences of my little faith.
                 “Don't be silly, God makes no mistakes,” Jenna laughed a little but laughed louder when I joined her. Our humor has become too shallow because we are desperate to escape our miserable loneliness.
                  I went home and cried, nothing unusual. I have gotten used to sadness as if it's part of my daily routine. After crying, I fell asleep like always, but woke up as if I have never rested for a year just like yesterday and the day before yesterday. I'm already tired of being tired. I will consider it a miracle if a day passes without me bawling my eyes out. What else does life have to offer? Can I go straight to hell now?