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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
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300 Letters - 15. Letter 14

4.10.2015

Dear C,

How are you doing my love…?

I had a dream last night, I saw you walking down the streets in Wimbledon. I was waiting for you at the Starbucks. You came in and we kissed. We drank lots of hot chocolate and we laughed. We laughed so hard that my cheeks hurt. It was golden. It was magical. I felt how love embraced us again and held us tight.

I woke up here so confused. It was 5 in the morning and when I saw the broken sink and scratched tiny mirror I got my reminder where I was… I didn’t cry. I just laid numb. I closed my eyes again and tried to come back to you, there at the Starbucks in Wimbledon – but I couldn’t anymore... Then I cried.

Today I had my first art and English classes. There is a building here, which is designed for education only. They have many different courses here, it’s totally different to the previous place. Anyway English classes are ridiculous. With all due respect to everyone, but these people don’t know how to write. And I’m the only foreigner in the group. We had to write a formal and informal letter. I felt like being back to school. But other guys really struggled.

Then I realised that it wasn’t a joke – they really didn’t know how to write anything. Now I feel really sorry for them. I kind of also gathered they didn’t like me, because the tutor praised me a lot (which made me feel really embarrassed) saying I should be an example for them…

Art class was ok. I had no clue what I was doing. The tutor asked me what brushes I wanted to use – I knew nothing about brushes. I was then given some brushes for watercolour paints. I sat on my own and started to paint. It was fun to watch how the colours interacted with one another. It made feel quite mesmerised. I almost forgot how much pain there is inside of me. I couldn’t stop watching the colours and how they were drying onto the wet paper. I didn’t paint anything, I just did some circles and irregular shapes.

I will never be able to paint, I’m not an artist and never will be, but at least now it takes me away from that place and the whole misery. At least for a moment.

I spoke to Kasia yesterday and she said she would come here with my mum in December. I can’t wait for it to happen. Also Agnes wants to visit me. And I am sure Lisa will soon come. I miss them all so much. I miss you the most.

I am worry of you every day.

The people here are so much calmer. Like I told you before – it’s a completely different world. They say it’s more like a learning / healing centre than a regular prison. I mean it is still called a prison, but has less of a prison feel to it – well at least that’s what I can tell. My prison experience has just started after all.

Baby, how is your chemo going on…? How are you talking this? I hope your friends are there for you, I hope Sarah is visiting you often.

Please be positive. Be strong.

I will write soon my love.

Forever Yours,

Sebastian

Copyright © 2018 Sebastian Bauer; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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Dear Hunter of Porn,

 

Thank you for the comment. I am still learning how to paint. It's a journey.

C doesn't know anything about my letters. I have no idea how he would have reacted to them...

 

S.B.

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