War Lips (Harry Styles A.U.)

Chapter 4

There are times when all of us wish to be dead. At the beginning of my life as a conscious 11 year old, I had a death wish. Who would know that Emma Milagros would have a death wish at age 11? I laughed a bit out loud at this thought as I stir more milk into my tea. The clinging of the full hot tea cup rang silently into my skull with a yellow poppyish colour. Humming to myself a small tune that Harry had made up within a matter of minutes. I was astonish at him singing and making songs out of nothing. I then placed the tiny spoon down. Taking a small sip of the now warm tea my mind drifted off into a state of dreaming. Flashbacks were a sudden everyday thinking. 14 days. 2 weeks. And one letter from Harry. It had arrived two days ago actually. I reached out from the table onto the far right side. There was an odd feeling of the Braille letter that Harry had written to me. Harry had developed a new technique on doing it. It was like when a child bubbled in a circle on his paper so hard that on the other side of the paper, the backside, there was a bump felt from the bubbling he left. We would use this one time when he would visit his family in the U.K. It was quite efficient actually. At one point really, I was really mad at him for not wanting to buy the machine for when he needed it to write to me as well as the one I had. But never the less, I secretly loved it. What was worse was the fact that he knew it. I traced my fingertips over the bumpy paper left-to-right.

Dear Em, You are so beautiful my Queen of England. Even though you probably are more concerned over the fact that I am currently in a battle site. But don't be afraid about that. I am not in the fronts or trenches. My commander had me to do some sort of different mission. It involves an inside filtration of these so called death camps. I was give scarcely bit of information on it. I will be expecting to leave to in a few weeks. So please don't hesitate about sending me a few letters of love. It gets lonely here without the constant feeling of your small hands on my face trying to remember every slope and every hill as you would say. I was actually starting to thinking of sending you letters like right after sending one but you and I both know well, unfortunately, just exactly how lazy I am. Anyhow, please call my mother and speak to her as well as to the neighbours, and our friends. I am sure that you've been laying in bed, dreading everything about me not being there right now for you. However I am really sorry for the fact I can't be there lying next to your small warm body waking up and your hands everywhere. It's quite cute to think of such beautiful way to wake up to because of my soul mate next to me. I'm sorry about the fact that my letter might seem so cliche and stink of cheese. I love you! Answer soon please! Bye.

I placed the letter back to the right far side of the table. My hands were placed on my lap. If I could stare, I would have been staring at the wall, lost in thought. How strange. Such a peculiar letter. However, I still got a horrible sentiment towards the letter. To brush off such feeling was clearly out of context. Death camps. The sound of the monstrosity was repulsively startling. A camp of death? For the dead? Something along the words death. This was just so disgusting. How cruel. I have to ask someone. I got up and ran to the ringing phone, picking it up.

"Finally dear Millie!" His mother.