Maria Oh Maria

5th L E T T E R

Tired

Dear Maria,

 Drip, Drip, Drip, Drop

Drop, Drip, Drip, Drop

It is raining today. How odd. Why is it rain in Spring? Or is it Summer? No, the lawn would not be white if it was Summer.

It's been a while like this Maria. My mind hasn't been working right. I get sudden headaches and nausea. Today I felt so dizzy that I had to sit on the kitchen floor, ignoring Mama who had been asking me what's wrong. How could I explain to her that bugs were chewing on my brain? She would be concerned again and might call Mr. Hannes for more check- ups.

As you know Maria, I really don't like these check-ups with Mr. Hannes. It's nothing much, he seems like a nice guy but something about his eyes tell me he doesn't believe a word I say. Back then, whenever I told him about the grinning men or the giant twelve legged spiders in the basement he always nodded. Simply nodded.

For some reason that chair I sat always felt so big, and his shadow towered over me as his eyes bore into my soul and something about his trembling lips spoke that he was suppressing a chuckle.

I felt so small, so weak, like a foolish liar.

It was all your fault Maria. It's because of you and your big snitching mouth that sent me to that man!! If you hadn't snitched that day, if you hadn't told them about grandma. . .

No.

No use digging graves.

I apologise for my tone. I didn't mean to be rude. It's just that my mind is not working right and I cannot help but write all these babblings. I hope you would put up with them like you always have done before.  Ignore me and my babble and the old rusted can of worms.

No one understood me Maria. But The grinning men did. They bared their white shiny teeth at me and told me to keep silent. Though I don't quite like when their grins become inhumanly wider the moment I lie to Mama or Papa or anyone in general.

Only if they believed me. Do you believe me Maria? Everything that I tell you in these letters? And the things I used to tell you back then?

Did you also believe me when I told you about the cat that lived inside our vents?

If you did then that gives me some relief.

It must have excited you, didn't it? After all you were crazy about cats and dogs. Yes, that would explain why you told Mama and Papa about the cat woman. But adults don't believe children so easily, do they?

But they sure believed you when you told them Grandma fell down the stairs.

I still remember the day you and I ran off into the woods despite our grandma yelling. They didn't believe us when we told them what we saw in the woods. What was it that we saw again? I can't seem to recall anymore. The memory of our first and last visit to the woods is clear as day to me except for that part of that thing, whatever the horrendous thing it was that we saw.

But I sure do remember desperately telling mama and papa and grandma about that thing and you having a panic attack on the floor and them, busy pondering over which punishment we deserve for our disobedience.

It's times like these that I hate grown ups Maria. I hate them so much that sometimes I even wish for them to go extinct.

Now that I think about it. Using words like "Mama" or "Papa" gives kind of that rich princess-like vibes. It seems too sophisticated perhaps and weird in it's own way. Let's stop calling them that. "Mom" and "Dad" would simply suffice.

Aside all that unnecessary things, Maria, my health is not good. Yesterday I kind of collapsed in school. The school nurse said the cause was my lack of sleep and that I might have insomnia. That made Papa. . . err, Dad kind of alert. I am now prohibited of watching TV before sleeping and kind of imprisoned in my room after 9 p.m.

The nurse wasn't wrong. The dark circles being the witness, I haven't been able to sleep for a while. For the love of god the ice-cream truck that parks down in our living room never stops the music. Even when I go down and bang on it's window the ice cream lady just pops out her head from the neatly broken hole in the front glass and wails loudly.

I don't know how Mom and Dad could sleep in all these noises. Maybe their door is just too thick or made soundproof to keep all the obnoxious away .

Every morning I get scolded. They think it's me who loots the fridge at night and after last Thursday their suspicion seems confirmed. I never get to say anything for myself. After all they would never believe that it was the ice cream lady who put the last piece of cake inside her van and drove off through the wall that night.

Mom can't seem to find her kitchen knife and has been looking for it everywhere. Dad has also lost his new garage gloves. I wonder if they are going to blame me again.

I'm tired of being blamed. I'm tired of being small.

Anyway I'm still holding on!

Yours only,

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