Seven Minutes After I Die

Blood Stamped Mysteries

The days following my speech at Jakarta International School flew by. I started preparing to pursue English literature at Oxford University.

My mother owned a bookstore in Jakarta that had the charm of a vintage English shop. The French doors gave it a beautiful look, surrounded by trees and filled with the singing of birds.

We had a showcase where people could write their thoughts in a letters and keep them in a locker. These letters would be opened after a few years, once the dreams they contained were fulfilled.

I took a piece of paper from the store, and with nervous hands, I inked my letter. The trees seemed to stop shaking, my mom stood still, and everything in the shop froze in that moment when I inked it with feather.

I had written a letter and placed it in the locker when I was in the sixth grade. Now, I wrote another letter and placed it in the locker again. It will be revealed when I turn THIRTY THREE(33). What is the mystery behind it? What does the letter contain?

I stamped it carefully with a blend of beeswax and resin, chosen for its durability. After that, I used red ink, which looked like my BLOOD and was made of linseed oil, to stamp it. With the BLOOD like smell—sorry, linseed oil aroma—I handed it over to the letter keeper, and it was placed in a transparent locker. I admired it for a minute until my mother called, "Anna, what are you doing there?" I felt nervous, as if I were hiding something from my parents. "Nothing, Mom, nothing," I said. She noticed my unusual demeanor and asked what had happened. I pretended to be normal and said, "Naomi, I'm alright," just like my grandma called her. She smiled at me, and I smiled back, with anxiety in my heart and longing in my eyes.

What is inside the letter? Why it should not be opened untill thirty three ? What is three three ? ....