Letters from the Past

Chapter 1: Homecoming

Feathery echoes of long-ago greetings swam through Ludwig's mind, like the hint of a melody at the end of a concerto; there, but only in your head.

"Take care of yourself, Lud!"

"Write back to us!"

"We'll miss you!"

All the well wishes of his family and friends written down in faded, old cards. He had kept them since the send-off party in 4018, before he was sent off for national service. The familiar names floated around, linking to their faces; Antonio, Francis, Gilbert, Vati and a few of his childhood friends. Most of them had been to the hospital to visit him recently, and he could clearly and definitely remember some things about them from the notes.

All except one.

Dearest Ludwig,

I'll be waiting for you... Don't forget me, okay?

Yours, F.V.

PS: Hope the dustpan comes in handy, I know you hate mess!

"F.V. F.V... I ought to know... Why is it so familiar?"

"Sergeant Beilschmidt, sir! Letters for you!"

———

Ludwig's POV

I know where I am, who I am and when it is.

I am in a military hospital in Decennia, and it is the year 4022. I know because I was born in 4000. Special, right? I am Ludwig Beilschmidt, Air Force 1st Sergeant of the 78th squad. I appear to have been in an engine malfunction that cost me a leg and gave me burns that even the saltiest comments cannot surpass. Also, I think I've lost some of my memory, but I don't know how much I can still remember. There are gaps, huge blank spaces from my past that my brother has kindly filled me in on. How much of it is true, I cannot say for sure.

As far as I know by myself, I was born and raised in Novoria, the eleventh City and cultural hub of the Twelve Cities, surrounded by children from all races and nationalities. I have an annoying, (self-proclaimed) awesome older brother, Gilbert, who rears baby chicks in his sock drawer and eats pancakes drowning in maple syrup twice a day. I remember hazy childhood days where I tried, and failed to befriend people. Something about my intimidating aura. I know that I entered NS when I was 18 and apparently outshone the others in my squadron to be promoted. I know of the accident, an exposed live wire too close to the fuel cells in my plane. I am in a wheelchair for the time being, until I can get myself a prosthetic from Septina, the ninth City specialising in medicine. The doctor thinks I'm lucky to be alive.

———

"Sergeant Beilschmidt, sir! Letters for you!"

"Danke schon, Tino. Where are the rest of my things?"

"All packed and ready to go, sir. I hope we haven't missed anything."

"Could I ask, did I own a little brush and dustpan?"

"Oh, so those were yours! I will get them straight away, sir!" Watching the recruit, a little Finnish boy of 18 years, pottering about, it reminded Ludwig of his first days, getting bossed around by his superiors to toughen up. The brush and dustpan were small, convenient for sweeping up little things like crumbs and pencil shavings. With a rare smile and a short word of encouragement to Tino, who beamed with pride, Ludwig was off on the chartered bus to his hometown.

Scenery whizzed by in a blur of monotonous grey buildings as the bus rumbled on through the airbase-centric town, Decennia, the twelfth City. Home to military bases and airfields, it was a far cry from Vallincina, the high-end district of the country, where soaring skyscrapers and glitzy shopping malls were in abundance. Ludwig stared out the window, lost in thought; he did remember bits of the past 4 years, where he quickly rose through the ranks thanks to his discipline and responsibility shown in training. He knew that he wrote back home often, but to whom he could barely recall. Hell, he almost forgot that he had an albino brother, Gilbert, until said nuisance had turned up with marshmallow chicks and a trumpet fanfare at the hospital.