Wednesday, XXXX
I miss your music. Unni is always humming something under his breath. He says it is from his homeland in the cool Taiga. He never tells me what the song is, but I suppose, if I pester him long enough, he will teach me. It's not like I can't sing, is it? Besides, my fingers pluck the trigger just as yours plucked the lyre strings, and each little push steals life from people the same way your twangs stole hearts. Unni likes it, or so he tells me. I would be damned - the blood upon my hands! - but Unni smiles and points out that I watch our backs. That's the benefit of a sniper - you kill all the bastards that eye your own.
Last night, I thought so hard of my Ma and sisters. And of you. There was this hill, and up we stumbled in the dark, and I saw its star- studded peak, and felt so at peace. Maybe dying is not so bad. I would have you know - and Ma and the girls too - I miss you lot something fierce. I miss the damp floor, and the tree tops rustling in the wind, and the smell of home and hearth.
I think, I might actually send this letter. On the morrow, we move southwards to yonder little town. It is my turn to keep watch now, so I should probably stop whining and actually 'watch.'
Sincerely yours,
The Soldier.
P.S.: It is not all bad, you know? Our unit has been lucky. There are only a few faces missing each time we gather around the fire. It'll be okay. It has to be.
YOU ARE READING
At War
Romance"Revenge by young men is considered victory, but old men who stay at home in times of war, and mothers who have sons to lose know better." -Chief Seattle This is an anti- war epistolary novella written for ONC 2022. Prompts 5 and...
