Dear Jessie Pope,
I have just returned from war and I would like to highlight that your poem was far from what I experienced. You explained it was going to be fun, an easy fight, but why am I sitting in this chair? My youth, my promised future is now wiped away, restrained, all these ugly scars are the remnants of a cold fight. Yes, I served my country, but now I am merely a shadow of what I could have been. I have witnessed horrible things, heard screams of fellow comrades as gunshots silence their voices, and felt pain unimaginable to those who sat on the sidelines.
Your words encouraged them, and your words encouraged me, but those words were full of empty promises. No matter the time there were always gunshots, always deafening sounds of machinery. A show? It sure was, one of the biggest shows you have ever seen, actors sprawled out on this massive battlefield. Actors? No not actors, people, your neighbors, your friends, human beings who just wanted to be a part of something because you said we would have a purpose. What purpose do those who have passed have now?
War is a game, a big one like you said. A game in which your life is hung on the line at every second, every moment. But there is no fun in this game, sure there were some good moments, but the loss of my fellow comrades was not what I was promised. Wake up and start being realistic, that could have been your son dying on that battlefield, promised a long life but cut short because of some war.
I am proud to have fought for my country, but I am not proud of the experience I have obtained. Killing people is not what I ever saw myself doing. My youth was wiped away. I was forced to mature quickly, to not get too attached to anyone at the fear of losing them. If I were to relive the moment I received your words, I would have preferred to be a coward and an outcast than lose 3 years and my legs.
From a child who has no future.
YOU ARE READING
Random Short Stories I Write
القصة القصيرةjust some short stories I've written throughout my years.
