LETTERS OF DEATH

"I love you, Chance" — those were the last words I remember hearing you say. I always recall your voice, filled with emotion, as you wondered what was happening to both of us. I had no answer — and neither did you. My love, because of the sorrow I feel, I even forgot to greet you. How are you? I don’t know if you’re at peace, because for me, peace has become just a saying. It has been three months now, and I still haven’t gotten used to being far away from you. Every day, I think it’s the last time I will see you — then the sun sets, the moon comes, and it’s the same again. But still, I remain here, inside these four walls, wearing the pink prison uniform that has replaced that garment of your love I always wrapped myself in, spending my days full of joy. In this prison, no one has been able to ease my loneliness the way you used to. Day and night, I remember you — my greatest treasure. I wonder whether you’ve gotten used to prison life or whether, like me, it has become unbearable. Have you made new friends? Have you gotten used to the prison food, or, like me, do you always remember our last meal together? Often in the morning, I turn to look beside me and don’t find you there; sadness comes, and I ask myself: What mistake did we make for both of us to be punished this much? Why did all the misfortunes start only a week after we got married? My love, I never forget that we were still newlyweds — you still being pampered and cherished — when that morning came, bringing the beginning of a new home, but instead, it carried grief and pain. Now here I am, and there you are, both of us locked in four walls without being able to meet again and be together. My dear wife, now I truly understand the value of every single word you told me. When cold moments come, I remember your hands — the ones that used to warm me — and I long for you, but I can’t reach you. I hide in the corner of this cell where light doesn’t reach, and I cry, asking myself: How are you, my dear? Every moment, I keep asking for your forgiveness, and even though your ears cannot hear me physically, I believe the ears of your heart can hear me through the love we shared. Forgive me, because I couldn’t protect you and give you the beautiful life I always promised. I wasn’t boasting when I believed that once you became my wife, I would work hard to give you a little heaven, to keep beauty in your body, love in your heart, and your favorite delicious foods on your table. But now, those dreams are just illusions — beans and porridge are what you have now. I remember you had stomach problems, and my heart aches. Sometimes I wish I could send the birds I see to you, to find out where the women’s prison is, but I can’t. My love, I hope this letter will reach you, and when it does, you might wonder why I wrote to you. After three months of not speaking, waiting for our trial for the crimes we’re both accused of, yesterday while others were playing games or learning new skills, I was sitting, thinking of you, my heart troubled for not knowing how you are. That’s when I spotted Ruzirampuhwe, a young man I went to school with. He’s not a prisoner like me — he works for the prison service. When he saw me, he was surprised. We started talking, but then I was overwhelmed by memories of you, and words failed me. I asked him to visit you in the women’s prison and tell you that I still love you very much, that my love for you grows every day, even if it’s hard for you to see. He’s the one who gave me the idea to write this letter. I know you’re lazy when it comes to reading, but I trust that if you see my signature, you’ll be happy. I know writing is hard for you, but I beg you — please write back to me. Even if I can’t hear you, I believe the power of our love will make your words feel alive to me. I won’t say goodbye because I’m not finished; I’m eager to see another word from you. I don’t know when this letter will reach you, but I know you will read it. Please send your reply through this young man — he will bring it to me. My beloved wife, I miss you more than words can say. Farewell for now. From your desperate one, Chance --- HEARING MY LOVER’S VOICE AGAIN Hello, my heart. I don’t know how to tell you this, but even now, I still feel as if I’m dreaming, finding it hard to believe that the letter I hold in my hands is really yours. But when I looked at your handwriting, I knew it was truly you. I was called unexpectedly, and I thought it was my lawyer wanting to speak to me. I didn’t have the strength to walk — my longing for you weighed heavily on my shoulders — but I had to go. I met someone I didn’t know, who quickly handed me an envelope, saying I’d understand everything after reading it. I don’t know if it’s the same in your prison, but here, receiving a letter from someone outside is difficult. Fortunately, because that young man is a prison employee, it was easier. I kept wondering what was written until I reached my cell — a place filled with loneliness, sorrow, and longing for you. My dear husband, what can I say? When I opened the envelope and saw your signature, I thought I was dreaming. I was overwhelmed with joy, tears filled my eyes, and as I read what you had written, I pressed the paper to my chest. I read it over and over again, my tears soaking it, but I understood every word. Calm yourself — I still love you. You know me — all the years we’ve been together, I have never stopped loving you. My breathing depends on the love I have for you. Misfortune came carrying tragedy, and here we are, both imprisoned. That corner you sit in sadly? I have one just like it here. I often spend long hours there, sometimes forgetting to eat because I’m thinking about you. I remember how you couldn’t cook well, always waiting for me to prepare the meals. I wonder now — who looks after you in your prison? I wish I could send birds to come and see you and bring back news, but I don’t know where your prison is. At least you still remember the last meal we shared. As for me, my tongue no longer enjoys food — you were the reason even the simplest meals tasted sweet. Even though you couldn’t cook well, your smile was the spice in my food. I often think about your words and the laughter we shared — those are what replace food for me now. You made me laugh again when I read that you know I’m lazy about reading and writing. That has changed — I will write to you often, and even if you delay, I will keep writing letters and wait for a chance to send them. Rest assured, the promise you made me about a beautiful life will still come true. I trust you completely. I’ve never blamed you or judged you. We’re accused of killing your friend — but I know you didn’t do it. We had only been married for seven days, still on our honeymoon. I still wonder who framed us by placing that young man’s body in our home. I beg you — eat well so that when we meet in court, I won’t be shocked to see you thin. Also, join in with the activities with other inmates instead of isolating yourself. Things are hard, but we must be strong. Thank you for finding a way to write to me. Every word you wrote has become a treasure in my heart. Here in prison, people think I’ve gone mad because I’ve been smiling non-stop since your letter arrived. If you find this letter wet, don’t be alarmed — the drops are from tears of joy. But you hurt me when you said you lean on your sadness — no, my love, lean on my love instead. I will lean on your letter too, reading it again and again whenever I feel weak. I hope you’ll write again. Farewell, my love. If you’ve made new friends, send them my greetings. Yours always, Nyenyeri Melanie