Dear James,
There was a reason Luke’s letters got delayed in the post.
Today at work, Mary and were going to a ward for an emergency operation, and Mary was was talking to me about how she hadn’t gotten a letter in weeks.
And we turned, and there Luke was, caked half in blood and half in mud. His legs were twisted and mashed and…deformed in any way possible.
Mary went berserk, she really did. You know in books and stuff, and the girl always cries prettily, weeping? Mary wasn’t doing that. She went mad, throwing herself over Luke and crying and sobbing and snot was coming out of her nose and Luke was unconscious and it was horrible.
I know you won’t get this right away, but I had to talk to someone. My parents are hard at work for the war, and I’m not going to scare Vicky.
I had to do the operation, though.
I watched Luke’s legs being cut off, watched his eyes crumple together and watched him squeeze his lips together. It was terrible.
Remember Luke wanted to be a footballer? He was about to sign for Chelsea before he got conscripted. Those days in the park, you and Jack trying to keep up with him dribbling a ball of rags down the grass.
And now he’ll never kick a ball again.
Rose xxx
YOU ARE READING
«letters to the somme»
General Fictiona patchwork of letters and telegrams and shorts telling the story of a girl and a boy who are caught in the crossfire of the first world war. all through the heartache and the pain and the blood comes a gleam of hope, of peace. commemorating the ce...
