Dear Jack
I know we’re not on speaking terms but I’ve been thinking what if you die.
I’ve been finding it hard to forgive you and it’s worse because I’m the only one who thinks you’ve done anything wrong. Your family and mine certainly don’t.
It was hard to bear the white feathers and specially getting one from Ellen. Don’t flap your hand at me, I know you like her. (So do I of course, but you’re the hero now.) You’ll still say it wasn’t the feathers, you just saw the light.
Maybe you’re right. Maybe it is sometimes not wrong to kill people. Maybe this war is a glorious exception and
No, I can’t think that or only for a short time about four o’clock in the morning. I hope in a way you’re still as determined as the day you got on the train and don’t have doubts at night to suffer as well as all the other things there. When it’s over we can argue about it in the pub.
I keep wanting to say how could you? how could you leave me? and trying to stop myself.
I want you to regret it bitterly. I’m sorry.
Will I send this? It helps writing it anyway. If I go to prison they might not let me write to you so I will send it. I expect your mother will send socks and chocolate (Ellen too?) So just this from your friend still
Edward
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Letter To An Unknown Soldier
Short StoryThis story is a collection of short letters that have been submitted to the Unknown Soldier project. The project is inspired by a statue that stands on Platform 1 of Paddington Station in London, representing all the millions of soldiers who died –...
