Catharsis II: An Army of Words (AUDITIONS)

Applicant #10: Brady's Firewurks

Dear santa,

pleas bring mama home early this Xmas. she neds to see the sky here! the firewurks r so big and many! its like its raining fire from faraway.but papa hates them. he says they come from the other city. thats where mama works but now shes in another country doing biznus.papa says the firewurks r fires from hell and I shood go back inside. I wish they come here when Xmas comes. Ill be very very very happy if they did.but ill be happier if mama comes home and wacth them with me and papa even tho papa is still angry with mama. He says he luvs mama when his with me but he is always angry when they speak on the phone.but I dont understand becoz his shouting good words to her when he told her to go back to go back to ur sugar daddy you hoar! thats what he says. I think its sweet because papa lets mama go to grampapi and even calls him sugar. I dont know what hoar is, but granny says it means the old peoples gray hair. I find it funny.maybe papa and mama r joking on the phone becoz they miss each other. It makes me miss mama more so pleas santa. pleas pleas pleas bring mama home so we can hav Xmas together as 1 happy family. thats all I want.

P.S. Dont place me on the naughty list but I lied. I want the firewurks too. Thanks.

Luv,

Brady

The letter crumpled against the mother's chest after she read it. Some words were barely readable now from all the drops of tears that smeared the ink.

He gave this to me a week ago, told me to mail it to Santa, her sister had told her through sobs, handing her the letter.

She took small shaky steps over the hill of debris. A few spots were still smoking. Pieces of roof, broken glass, Christmas tree branches, and a few limbs here and there mixed with the chunks of soil and cement that replaced the area where Christmas happened and lives were lived just a few hours ago.

Her mind was numb now. The tears have already dried. The air was still filled with aircrafts and explosion, wailing and despair, but she didn't seem to hear. She just let her feet bring her anywhere. All sense of purpose and direction were gone now along with the town.

Somehow, she ended up kneeling on the place where their old house used to be, just by the tallest oak tree which had now felled. Anger slowly fueled her to dig through the debris of their old home. She blindly threw piece by piece of rock behind her back as the tears came back again.

She didn't stop – not for scratches on her arms or the deep cut on her palm.

Not until she touched his small, cold, lifeless hand.

And then she joined the melancholy chorus of widows and orphans.