Chetanya Pandey
My Lord,
I expect of you to, like the Nile, keep cool all through this episode of reading, and rage within yourself lest your tides should unworthily prove futile on me.
By now I expect I have raised your spirits enough to commence this noble piece of writing that intends no conditional harm.
My kind Lord, the most dramatic of verses fail to fully condition your attributes. Since, I too am a deprived creature, deprived of your fragrant lustre, I hereby attempt to dissolve you in a solvent so chemical.
Having been prejudiced in your eyes by your eyes, my Lordship, I would like to commence your criticism since it inevitably turns out to be your most sought-after possession ever.
Since I anticipate the trash anticipating this piece of worthy writing, I would like to claim the unprejudiced authority of this unsound allegation ever so tamed by the reigns of our Wilderness.
Firstly, it’s a piece of strict composure and an attempt in the direction of an unabusive criticism purely based on the merit of thy existence.
Secondly, I call it not a writing but a letter, and Your Logical Highness would not like to be deprived of such unconditional hatred for in your terms, the bad is good as well and that’s what you imply by your coups.
Thirdly, every sane Lord has read his letter of criticism. He may discard the Dear Jane letters, but these ones charm Him since it takes some real deal of time to scrutinize men better than they would have, themselves.
Having ensured the life of this merciless letter, as merciless as Your Highness, I hereby pledge not to condemn thee in the forefront of hoes.
Destiny hath made thy a controversial claim and thereupon rests the scandal in this cycle. A continuous sense of approval has wreaked havoc upon you. With you raising your ugly head are some utter misfortunes wrested in this garland.
Start counting the beads from either side, you reach the chiral centre.
But, Your Majesty, the side upon which you lay, lies damaged, and the knot can’t be mended further. This is you with your sins. Open your eyes, and do that you desire to the garland resting upon your absent mercy.
Your games have been outnumbered, and no longer can you claim to be the better half of all that conspires in the creation. Retrace your Path, O Lord of Brutality, or else you shall lose very warmly to the pleasure of us all.
You invoke no just place for the emblem of injustice can’t be justly placed, nor can the emblem of impudence be.
Your uncouth self is but a matter of delight for Mercy for you only add to her beauty uncensored. If you will to success, try some other route.
But, for now you are captivated and on one of the nights of one of the months, 2030, shall you be executed. For now, I being a sincere well-wisher of Your Lordship would like to attach a chamber you may so dwell in. Let it be the Chamber of Revenge.
See you at dusky ten today.
Phoo. Lights on. Have your duvet ready for it remains for fate to tell who shall be chilled out- you or her.
Your sincerest well-wisher,
Chetanya Pandey
That night I sat to compile a letter to myself.
Dear Me,
With the sincerest of wishes, I seek to hope that no harm has fallen your way after the letter was written and posted. The gravity of your fears has been a constant cause of worry as I pondered over the variables of the equation. But not every worry seeks to mercifully abandon the fear of the penultimate before I shall cause myself to worry over the Ultimate.
Nevertheless, with a chance at hand, I penned down the letter and let myself let go. With zero confirmation letters in my inbox, I have been continually worrying myself over depravity, and I need not attach my rudimentary reflexes to the noble proses Life herself asks me to red.
It has taken me some extraordinary amont of time to dwell upon the optimistic trilogoy of fate, work and reward, and I seem to be policying myself without fail since the depth is as yet uncertain.
Anyways, I hope for the best in writing and for the worst in our respective minds.
Your worthless servant,
Chetanya
