Thursday, XXXX
I am loathe to put this on paper, lest this magical night go away. Besides, I am not entirely certain of the sanity of my actions. We reached the dance hall together – Unni, Taki, myself and the others – and immediately, Taki goes to charm some pretty lass. We were just hanging around the bar in front, chugging booze like there was no tomorrow, and the alcohol loosened tongues. At some point, Unni – the poor lovestruck boy (although who am I kidding?) – he lists towards me and serenades, as if I were his long lost village girl in frock and skirt, "Saaarrrgeee, let's go daaannncee." I am imagining the song in my head as I write it, but I do not think you will be able to hear it. Anyway, so we pick on him and shove him, the hilariously drunk moron whines like a kid, and Taki, having had his fill of whichever skirt he chased, offered to drop him off. We agreed, and decided to go in – not the best idea, since many of us could not even walk straight – and there is this dainty dame in a fetching fuchsia flared gown, and she comes up to me and says, "A dance?"
I swear, I did not mean to notice it, but she had your raven hair and brown eyes. She did not even give me a chance to answer, just took my arm and swayed around to the plaintive beat of some haunted melody, and it was everything I have ever wanted – all my clandestine hopes and desires poured into one night, a lover that walked away, a soldier who said goodbye. It sounded like closure.
I cannot tell you how long we danced, how many times the song changed, once slow and soft, then fast and loud, and although I understood not a word of it, music never had more meaning. Even the swish of dresses and the patter of boots and heels seemed to have melted into the background, and it was you, me and the melody of the universe.
Later, I felt terrible for using her that way, and offered to walk her home. The others were giving me shit, not that I expected anything else, but I had never been more ashamed of myself. I hoped to apologise as I brought her to her doorstep, but she smiled and said, "Me too, soldier, me too."
I asked her what was similar, and she said, "She was a nurse, you have her tender eyes, her smile."
I did not know what to think. I did not know what to say. Perhaps it was for the best, two souls destroyed by war, rebuilding each other.
Sincerely yours,
The Soldier.
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...
