Letter From A Lone Soldier

Mike's far from home and horrified by the war...

Darling Ilea,

 

How I wish I could hold you in my arms at this time. The sun hungs lower than ever over this land and I dream constantly of home. Of green fields, of pine trees, and the sweet smells that accompany them. The scent of flowers…The smells here are sickly sweet. The flowers are not as beautiful, covered in war’s dust, in gunpowder and burning oil. Too often I want to lie down, and never get up. I do it for you, sweet Ilea. It is for you that I rise every morning, pretending that you are by me, that I will be able to kiss your eyelids when I come back after the hard day’s work. You must know I love you. Now let me tell you this : I could not live without you. I can still see a ghostly sun overhead, one that mirages the real one of here, the one that hangs over you, but it is you, you have become this ghostly sun I see every day. Every memory of you I conjure when I am lost in doubt and loneliness. Surely, you can see the hell we live in. Or do they not tell you back home ? Bodies which have life, understand now Ilea, living souls, are torn apart under my eyes, their spirit leaving this earth in such an inhumane manner. I have seen children, red-eyed and starving, kill each other to eat, and what could we do ? Stop them ? What good would that have done ?How can human race lower itself so much as to murder each other ?Remind me Ilea, why am I at war here ?What good reason are we fighting for ?After I have worked to kill men that are just like me, men which have no clue for what they fight, unless it is that their government has asked them, men that have families like we do, how can we go on assassinating each other, like we hate each other ?Hope seems…so far away right now. I dream of your smile Ilea, I dream of your eyes, I dream of your hair, I dream of your skin, and that is the only thing that keeps me going : you.

I know you dread sitting about doing nothing. I would ask you, if it isn’t too much to go somewhere where children need your help. Do not stay ‘home’ doing nothing, hurting yourself and therefore myself. I received your letter, and I can say that I have no more joy than reading what has been written by your hand. It pleases me to know you are well, though I can read between the lines. You will find in my drawer an old letter of Dayton, asking if you and I could come to India for orphan children. Perhaps you could write to old Dayton and tell him you would go. I would join you after the war. I had never answered his letter. I love you Ilea. When I come home, we’ll have a real family. I miss you sorely. I love you, and I could fill another page with only the words ‘ I love you’ but here, paper is precious. I love you.

 

Your loving husband and soldier,

 

Mike

Author's Note

This is really an extract from a story I started ages ago and which I never finished, and have no idea where it went. This is the only thing I recovered from it. Hope you enjoyed it. If you have any way you think of improving it, then don't hesitate to tell me.