A Diary from Cold Days

This is a short story in form of a soldier's diary during wartime.

26.07 

The sun set over the gloomy hills and the last rays of light shone through the canopies. I felt the light autumn air turn into a chilling breeze. Winter was to come, and the war had not yet ended. 

03.12 

We waded through the meter-high snow for days. The men had lost their morale, and the borders were nowhere in sight. The snow in the mountains got higher and higher, and so did the casualties. We barely fought, no, we hadn’t fought in weeks. The enemy was not at fault for our unprecedentedly increasing casualties. The men fell ill. Pneumonia, typhoid, and malaria. The threatening cold and the fact that our division had been cut short on food rations only amplified the already existing miseries.

24.12 

Merry Christmas. 

I barely remember my negligible childhood Christmases, but what I remember vividly is the pure smile on my son’s face lying in Lydia’s arms last Christmas. We had a banquet in our small but lively wooden hut then. The hut was a tad bit isolated from the neighboring villages. A quarter of an hour to walk down the narrow path, and only a tenth of an hour by vehicle to reach Pori. At least I’ve been told it was a tenth. Lydia and I were saving for one of these new vehicles, but before the jar was halfway filled, the war had broken out. The world seemed so perfect back then, that it hurts to even think of any warm memory of Pori. Yes, a memory. It is only a memory now. May I return quickly and bring the memory to life again. 

17.01

A couple of days ago, our division was buried under an avalanche. It caught us off guard during nighttime. Few men survived. We’re still digging in the snow in search of the Lieutenant Colonel, of course, on the orders of the captain, who is among the survivors. No one liked Lieutenant Colonel, but our captain would most likely lose his rank if we wouldn’t bring home the corps to his family. Or at least an arm. 

22.02

The sun rises again, but not for us. The enemy has pushed combat behind our fronts. Now that half our soldiers have lost their lives and the other half their spirit, no one dares say it aloud, but we all know. The war is over, and we’ve lost. I feel embarrassed about the initial excitement, the curiosity of how war would feel, and the overstimulating anticipation of reap benefits. So very embarrassed. 

08.03 

It’s over for us. We’re besieged, but not imprisoned. In a couple of weeks, I will return to Pori and to my family. I’m just glad we lost. 

26.03

I have returned home to Pori. The warm memory of my time before the war, the joyous welcome once I would return after we would have won, my wife embracing me tightly and seeing my son already having grown a few teeth. It was the only thing that kept me going. It was the only thing that kept me alive. It was not anymore. The hut was looted, set afire, and bombed to pieces. I was told it happened at night. Lydia sleeping soundly, holding our son dearly. The warm memory turned to stone and dust. 

 

27.3 

And do have I turned to dust after my lifeless body was found at the endless bottom of a ravine deep in the mountains. Oh, Lyida, forgive me. I could not possibly shoulder the ravaging loathing inside me. I though the war could not break me. But looking down on my shattered corpse, oh, Lydia, the war has broken me in the end.

Author's Note

I'm pretty sure I mixed something up with the ranks of Colonel and Capatain, so any suggestions there are welcome. As well as over all of course. Thank you.