A Collection Of Shorts

Wish Me Luck

September 4th 1941

My Dear Barbara,

I met you in a diner whilst escaping my grief. You were a glimpse of heaven in my purgatory, a ray of sunshine on my rainy day. You still are.

Do you still remember that evening? The hours of endlessly pointless chatter. Oh how you changed me, something I hope this war shall never succeed in doing.

You would not believe the - excuse my blasphemy - hell that is training. Mud crusting on every orifice and square inch of skin, the copper taste of blood in my mouth threatening the small lunch in my poor stomach, the stench of stale sweat enough to make my eyes water. I’ll be positive and say that it was certainly challenging. Challenging indeed.

It has been worth it though, I am sitting comfortably in my formal new uniform waiting for orders. If I do say so myself, beloved, I am quite the catch. I have more muscle than I would ever have hoped to gain at home, a stronger mind and passion that burns brighter than ever.

Speaking of home, I have made tremendous new friends. My comrades, every single one, I now consider my brothers. I’d trust them with my life. In fact very soon I will. However, I fear they don’t trust someone such as me to protect them. I hope they sense my commitment to such duties. Don’t worry dear, this budding young man of yours swears to do all he can to assure the safety of his friends, his comrades, his brothers.

I must end the reminiscing of my time in training, the lieutenant is here to make me a hero. My stomach churns with excitement and nerves at what is to come. I shall serve my country and the world.

I love you with all my heart and I will return,

Love Your Alby

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March 3rd 1942

Darling Barbara,

The boys greet you with happiness, they too share in the joy the stories in your letters. My heart swells when I read of you and the experiences you have. Our sullen faces always brighten up and when I call “I have a letter from Babs!” I am bounded on by boys even younger than myself who treat you as if you were their mother.

I miss you so. My arms long to have you wrapped in them, telling me how you love me and how you miss me too. My father was right, I have caught the love bug and I’m falling victim to it more and more every day. I feel as if you are my guardian angel.

Mentioning that, we lost Thomas Anderson. We have lost many more but ol’ Tom assured our racing thoughts that we would win this war. “No pompous little eejit can strike down our hearts” he used to say.  Honest, my love, I feel for his family. His wife and his lovely little Roy of whom I've only seen pictures. Those big innocent blue eyes hold such hope and happiness. My is failing to keep me positive after seeing such horrors, the cries of agony and the careless murder of people who I have never known and will never be able to. Why is life so easily taken from us? I do not understand, honey. I do not see how it is possible to be positive and hopeful when I see the tears of my brothers, when I hear their grievous sobs at night, their blank faces when they stare into the fields strewn with the bodies of close friends and even relatives. Why must the world be so cruel to such young souls?

No. I cannot let myself fall. My sharp mind will be the needle that stitches us all together. A heart is not so easily healed and yet I am prepared. I will not let any more of my family fall.

My deepest apologies, love, I should not trouble you with such miserable details. I am the same Albert, my eyes may have opened to a wider world but you are still my incentive to live. It is hard, I shan't lie to you, but I have always been the one to pull through tragedies and this time will be no different. So wish me luck!

I yearn to see you again my bubbly Barbara,

Your Albert

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August 5th 1942

Beloved Barbara,

Broken. That’s the only way I may describe my shattered self to you. Oh so broken. Oh so tired. Physically and mentally I feel I can go on no longer. Sometimes I turn around and see the most terrifying things and I have to rub my eyes to figure out whether it's this dreaded reality in which I live or just another hallucination that's come to plague my mind. I’ve watched my brothers be taken from me, they are gone. Torn away from me by the hateful, ruthless clutch of deaths bony fingers. I miss their sarcastic smiles and their foolish taunts. I miss the way they would pat my shoulders after success, now all I feel is a ghostly chill when I watch another fall.

How incredibly simple-minded was I? I thought that i could go to war and fight for my country, be filled with pride and warmth, be the hero. Instead i sit here ignorant as to what to do with myself. I can no longer fight the attack of fear on my senses. Some tell stories of becoming numb but i have not been granted such a benevolent privilege. At the sound of a single gunshot my thighs fill with pounding dread, my eyes see red everywhere, i hear multiple agonising screams. And yet it is just my imagination. It is not real. No man's land is quiet.

Oh my Barbara.  Beautiful bubbly Barbara. Babs. I miss you so much. I desire your presence so strongly that every muscle aches with need at the mere thought of you. I miss the lips that made me fly.  I miss your voice, smile, hugs, and laughs. You.

I have never been one to shy away from gore, you know this better than anyone. This, though, is different. Never in my time before this ‘experience’ had I seen men with multiple gunshot wounds. Lack of arms, legs, heads, faces, ears. You name it, I’ve seen an abandoned piece. The blood just gushes. It doesn’t stop even after the poor sucker has been damned to hell. I’ve regurgitated what little I’ve eaten many times since being here. I’d die for a homemade dinner just now.

Would you like me to tell you what I’m living right now? I can see five men lying on stretchers made of jackets and sticks. I see piles of dead bodies decaying with the flies that feast on their rotting flesh and open, tearful eyes. The tears never did fall though. I heard them scream, cry and pray to god to spare them, to at least have mercy on their family. What god? Is there even a god? I doubt it. If there is then I want nothing to do with him. He does nothing for us. He kills us and makes us turn against each other. He tears away from us the people that matter most. He may take me away from you dear Barbara.

I fear I may not make it. I have lost faith in anything and everything. I've tried my best. I've been a good person. Hopeful, caring, kind, optimistic. The boy you loved is gone. That naive child was butchered by the reality that is war. He’s gone and he won’t ever come back. This broken man doesn’t even care.

I’ll never forget you, my first love and most likely my last,

Goodbye,

Albert J. Ferguson.

 
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