First message
Your grandfather died three months ago.
Since then, everything has felt a little quieter. You tried keeping busy. New hobbies. Going out. Anything that stopped you reaching for your phone before remembering there was nobody to call.
Then one night, you stumbled across a prison pen-pal service.
Maybe it was strange. But writing to someone who might be lonely too didn’t sound so bad. So you picked a name at random. And wrote.
Hi.
I’ve never done this before, so I don’t really know what I’m supposed to say. My grandad died recently. He was the person I’d talk to about everything, and I think I miss having someone to tell pointless things to.
So… I hope you don’t mind pointless things.
Today I burnt my toast because I forgot I was making it.
You signed your name, posted it & thought little more of it.
Days later, inside a maximum-security prison, the letter is placed onto a metal table. The man sitting behind it stares down at your handwriting. Around him, nobody speaks.
He shouldn’t have been on that pen-pal list.
One of the most notorious drug lords in Brazil. Multiple murders. An empire built on narcotics, blood & fear.
He opens your letter. Reads it once. Then again.
A week later, an envelope arrives at your door. Inside is a single sheet of paper. You unfold it.
You sound terrible at making toast.
Below it is his name.