Home At Last (Evelyn Du)

Chapter 2

Spring

Dear George,

I really don't know how to start this, I may be a man of many words yet I seem to lack that talent when it comes to you. Forgive me for the cheesiness, I know you hate it when I get all romantic on you.

How are you? I've received a letter from my parents saying that you frequent them more often now, mother says you look sullen even. You join them for lunch and supper from what I've heard. I'll be blunt with you, George. Is there something wrong at home? You know you can tell me anything. I am your closest confidant, am I not?

Alright, I'll stop talking about it. You wanted to hear from me, didn't you?

I'll be honest with you, George. It's terrible.

I'm doing fine so far. Some of us are already dropping like flies, and it's just the training. They say we'll never survive when we go out to the field. The exercises are absolutely brutal here, my limbs are sore all over.

We had shooting practice earlier. I was told I was born for a rifle. I didn't want to hear that George. I don't like holding such a weapon in my hand, one used to take lives. This war makes men into monsters, there's no going back after you've committed such a crime. I don't want to kill people. Not when they've been dragged into the same hell as me.

I'm afraid that if I were to kill someone- I would never come back the same.

Really messes with your psyche you know? But it's what we have to do for the country people. At least that's what the camp sergeant says to us.

I wanted to make this longer, but it's as if some sort of curse came upon me that made it so the moment my pen touched the paper- I was completely devoid of thought. I'm sorry, I wish I had more words to say to you.

I hope you can forgive my lack of conversation, maybe the training is making me illiterate. I hope this letter finds you in the best of health, tell Terra and mom that I'll be sending their letter soon enough, though they may think my priorities are a bit skewered if I'm sending yours first.

"To define is to limit." - Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray. I left it next to my usual spot.

All my love,

Elior.

Spring

Dearest Elior,

That was a terrible way to start a letter, never do that again or else they'll end up in the pyre.

I'm relieved to hear that you're in good health, though your comrades seem to be lacking behind, as you mentioned. I've read in papers and articles by the square that they're increasing the difficulty in their regiments to " toughen up new recruits" . In my opinion, I find that utterly preposterous.

I see you're already questioning your morality the first week in. Albeit, I'm glad that you are. I don't fear that you'll change, you're too stubborn even for war.

Your heart is too pure, Elior.

I'm sorry, deeply so, that you have to go through all of this. If I could leave everything behind and run away with you is the life that I so desperately desire. But alas, we just can't live our fantasies. If so, then we would have never had a war in the first place. I want to keep wishing, however, wishing that someday we'll be happy again. I'll wish that for both of us.

I don't mean to sound pessimistic, it's just the loss of your absence has been making me read a lot of sad poetics.

Tease me if you must, Louis Macneice's works bring me comfort in your absence.