WAR - An English ISU

DISCLAIMER: All titles of created works were taken from song lyrics.

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Epistolary Novel - Response to “Army Recruiting Commercial”

          My epistolary novel was inspired by the Army Recruiting Commercial “You Want Action?” which was advertised in 1962. The commercial glorifies the army and makes it out to be this incredible group that participates in epic activities. The commercial mentions that the army is real man-sized action and it implies that if one doesn’t join the army, then they cannot possibly call themselves a real man. The commercial’s happy mood inspired me to think about how it was essentially lying to potential soldiers. The army is not all fighting and camaraderie. The commercial didn’t include what the lives of soldiers would really be like away from their families and friends, rotting in a trench somewhere. I created my epistolary so that it followed a soldier’s evolution from being a young man who got fooled by false army commercials to a soldier who regrets ever joining the army in the first place.

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Poster - Response to “Maybe There’s No Such Things as Heroes”

          My poster was inspired by the monologue titled “Maybe There’s No Such Things as Heroes” from the movie “Flags of our Fathers”. The monologue is basically sons of war veterans discussing why their fathers disliked and were uncomfortable being referred to as heroes. There is a line in the monologue that reads, “...but for my dad and these men, the risks they took, the wounds they suffered, they did that for their buddies. They may have fought for their country but they died for their friends. For the man in front, for the man beside him...” This line inspired me to think about the image of a soldier holding his bleeding friend in his arms on the battlefield. I translated this idea onto paper and expanded on it further by making a poster. The poster I made compares what people expect army life to be like (fires, camouflage wear, rifles and good friends) to what army life is actually closer to.(death, destruction, blood and loss). 

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Poem - Response to “The Things They Carried”

          My poem was inspired by the short story “The Things They Carried” by Tim O’Brien. The literary work I found was about the items that a unit of soldiers carried during their service in the Vietnam War. Along with the usual equipment and food they carried, the soldiers also carried things personal to them. There is a part of the story towards the end where one of the characters compares herself to a book. She says, “...the book hasn't been checked out for a long, long time. All you can do is wait. Just hope somebody'll pick it up and start reading.” These few lines caused me to think about how the soldiers felt when they returned home, if they returned home that is. I was inspired to write a poem about how different their lives would be. Simple day-to-day things would feel completely foreign and maybe be incomprehensible to them. Some soldiers might even prefer to return to the army because it’s the only life they know anymore. It would be simpler than trying to live in a world where they don’t fit in and live in constant fear.

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Monologue - Response to "Dulce Et Decorum Est”

           My monologue was inspired by the poem “Dulce et Decorum Est” by Wilfred Owen. The poem contains graphic descriptions of soldiers dying due to gas shells being dropped near them. The author criticizes the idea of glory that most people have regarding war and condemns those who encourage innocent, young men to give their lives to a war that’s not theirs. This poem got me thinking about how people assume that being a soldier is the same as being a national hero and how soldiers feel about this assumption. I wrote a monologue about a soldier’s reaction to being called a hero and why he feels that he doesn’t deserve that title. The soldier responds to the descriptions of dying soldiers in “Dulce et Decorum Est” with his own experiences of seeing his fellow soldiers die. That’s how my found poem inspired my monologue “He shouldn’t kill but he always will”.

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Dramatic Brainstorms

A veteran’s inner monologue questioning his place in the world. He wonders if he’s worthy of the title “hero”. He does not think of himself as a hero for fighting a war. He is simply a man who had to face terrible things. He wonders if that’s what makes a man a hero. If so, he does not want to be a hero. He wishes people would stop looking at him with pity and respect in their eyes, as if he’s a wounded god. He wants to be treated like a normal man. He does not want to forget his time in the army, but he wants others to. 

A fairy tale about a man who fights for the maiden’s hand. He is a well-known and successful warrior who is madly in love with the maiden. While she admires his courage and perseverance, she cannot bring herself to consider him as a serious suitor. She does not want to give up her fantasy of living a safe, normal and unassuming life. She cannot have that with the warrior. Instead, she turns to a man with a stable income and who will keep her happy enough. 

A short scene about a wife begging her husband not to go off to fight in the war against the Nazis. She implores him to think of if not her, their newborn child. She tells him he will be missing so much of his daughter’s life. Even if he does return, he will be too scarred a man to be the man he is now. He replies only by saying it’s his duty to fight. He kisses his wife and child goodbye and walks out with tears in his eyes and a duffel bag over his shoulder. 

A one-act play about a group of soldiers. They are cut off from their base and have to ration food until they can find their way back. Along the way, the weather becomes too hot for the soldiers to handle. They must leave things behind. Unfortunately, they are already carrying only the necessities. This means that they will have to leave behind their personal belongings. They decide to bury their personal items. Before they place their things in the ground, each soldier talks about each item and its significance. Then, they bury the items and move on with pieces of their souls covered in dirt. 

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Literary Brainstorms

An epistolary novel comprised of a series of letters sent home by a World War II  soldier. The letters start from his training, to when he was stationed somewhere for the first time, his first battle etc. There are sometimes long breaks in the letters from when he is unable to write and times when it was impossible for him to mail his letters. The novella ends on a few long letters sent to his family and girlfriend. Those are the final letters he will ever read or write.

A brochure detailing the life of a soldier. It will include the process of becoming a soldier, where each and every step is written down. Both mental and physical effects of joining the army will be listed. Post-army life will also be written about, warning soldiers that adjusting to their old lives will be difficult in a number of ways. There will be short paragraphs written by actual soldiers and veterans about life in the army and their opinions on whether or not they would encourage someone to become a soldier.

A research based novella about World War II and all of the events leading up to it. The research will be told through a story about a modern underdog reporter. He will analyze the research and find, in his opinion, what the root cause of the war was. The research will be presented as conversations between him and war veterans he has interviewed and met. Not only will he research the war, he will also find out how the war affected people’s life on a personal level.

A short story about the workers in a factory that produced guns for the Vietnam War. Each chapter will be about the workers’ conversations at lunch each day. They will dicsuss the war, their lives and other things. But at the root, there will be a serious tone. In the final chapter, the workers will quietly talk about how they might as well be killing everyone in the war because they are the soure fo the deathly weapons. They will talk about whether they should go on strike or rebel against what they were told to do. However, they will just talk about it and not act. 

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Informational/Media Brainstorms

An expectations vs. reality poster about joining the army. The expectations section is a well-built, happy, confident group of people sitting around a fire in army clothing with their equipment surrounding them. The reality section is a soldier lying in the ground clutching his dying comrades, while trying to fend off a barrage of bullets and grenades. The soldier is covered in blood and dirt, with a desperate look on his face. 

A brochure detailing the life of a soldier. It will include the process of becoming a soldier, where each and every step is written down. Both mental and physical effects of joining the army will be listed. Post-army life will also be written about, warning soldiers that adjusting to their old lives will be difficult in a number of ways. There will be short paragraphs written by actual soldiers and veterans about life in the army and their opinions on whether or not they would encourage someone to become a soldier. 

A news article about the soldier who sacrificed himself for the life of a woman on the enemy side. The woman was trapped in a burning building and the soldier went in and got her out. On the way out, a column collapsed on top of him. The article will question the ethics of war, and if any amount of reasoning is enough to warrant one. Or if war is a necessary evil, then it’s always just that - an evil. 

A satirical comic strip about war. Soldiers will sarcastically discuss the ethics of war. They will ask why they’re being volunteered for a fight that they didn’t start nor want to take part in. The authorities will give vague and unimportant answers. The soldiers will eventually transform into dogs as the comic strip goes on to illustrate that they are mere animals following the orders that they have been given. 

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Dulce Et Decorum Est

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs, And towards our distant rest began to trudge. Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots, But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind; Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time, But someone still was yelling out and stumbling And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.— Dim through the misty panes and thick green light, As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams before my helpless sight, He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace Behind the wagon that we flung him in, And watch the white eyes writhing in his face, His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin; If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs, Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,— My friend, you would not tell with such high zest To children ardent for some desperate glory, The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori.

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Poetic Brainstorms

A poem in the perspective of a soldier suffering from PTSD. He will compare his life before joining the army to his life after. Simple things like going to the movies will scare him. He will mourn the loss of his innocence and simple happiness. Each stanza will alternate between him doing something; one will be him before joining the army and the next will be how he does that thing as a man who has seen too much death. The poem will end with him yearning to return to the army. 

An 8-line poem describing the bodily reactions one experiences when their friend is killed in front of their very eyes. One line will describe the sense that is affected and the following line will describe the soldier’s reaction to that sense. Sometimes, the soldier will try to run or take cover. Other times, he will be frozen to the spot only being able to watch.

A ballad from a man to his girlfriend in the army. He describes every single thing he misses about her from the way she pronounces a word to the way she walks into a room. He makes grand plans for when she returns, talking about all of the amazing things they’ll do together. The poem ends with him vowing to appreciate everything about her even more than he did before when she returns.

A slam poem from the perspective of an army captain. It will describe his evolution from a hopeful and happy man to a cynical and gruff fighter. He will despair over how many lives he has put in danger, all of the men he has sent to death. The poem will end with the captain admitting that he is a murderer. The last line will be “I will die just as my men have died before me, Doused in fire, limbs shot off and slowly tortured; agony dripping red from my bones.” 

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Dramatic - Found Work

Flags Of Our Fathers (2006) "Maybe There's No Such Thing As Heroes"

            Book author James Bradley (Tom McCarthy), the son of one of the six famously-immortalized flag-raisers during World War II's Battle of Iwo Jima, offered closing last lines - an epistemological conclusion about revering the dead as heroes - the term he was labeled with. He mused that the men admired their fallen buddies the most and were "uncomfortable being called heroes." He had just spoken to his aging father (Harve Presnell) on his deathbed in 1994, who told him about the aftermath of the flag-raising. The ending scene was of the men stripping down on a beach and swimming in the ocean after raising the flag in 1945, as Captain Severance (Neal McDonough) looked on:

            “I finally came to the conclusion that he maybe he was right. Maybe there's no such thing as heroes. Maybe there are just people like my dad. I finally came to understand why they were so uncomfortable being called heroes. Heroes are something we create, something we need. It's a way for us to understand what's almost incomprehensible, how people could sacrifice so much for us, but for my dad and these men, the risks they took, the wounds they suffered, they did that for their buddies. They may have fought for their country but they died for their friends. For the man in front, for the man beside him, and if we wish to truly honor these men we should remember them the way they really were, the way my dad remembered them.”

http://www.filmsite.org/bestspeeches72.html 

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Battle lines being drawn, Nobody's right if everybody's wrong

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A Sea of White Doves Sailed

I used to like going to the movies. Scene after scene reflected in my eyes, The smell of popcorn and licorice in the air Mingled with the love story in front of me.

I hate going to the movies. There are too many dark corners hiding enemies, Too many strangers looking at the paranoid soldier. I’m an outlier, a sore thumb. It’s clear I don’t belong.

I used to like watching fireworks, Bright colours painted across a nighttime canvas, Gun powder bursting with life, laughter and love. I would smile a smile as warm as the night sky.

I hate watching fireworks. All I see is horror and red spilling across the sky like, It unjustly does far too often on the battlefield. People laugh; they haven’t seen what gunpowder can do.

I used to like playing video games. Take aim at the bad guys and go in guns blazing, Kill a few bots, plant a few bombs, then rank up! This isn’t even real life, it’s just an innocent game.

I hate playing video games. The controller shakes in my calloused, bloody hands, Every shot is an empathy-tipped knife to my heart. The men fall dead; pawns in a battle that’s not theirs.

I used to like sleeping. Lulled by the comforting dark and quiet, Dreaming of starry nights and las meninas, The subtle art of being completely at peace.

I hate sleeping. Too many cars backfiring, too many clocks ticking, I get up and check the back door is locked - eight times. My agonizingly vivid visions of death, loss and destruction.

I wake up in a cold sweat. My mind and body in fight mode, prepared for the worst. Looking for a danger that’s not there, I yearn a terrible fate; “I wish I were still in the army.”

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He shouldn't kill but he always will

           I’d noticed the woman’s eyes raking over my uniform and duffel bag. In a soft voice, she said words that I barely registered, still groggy from my flight and long train ride. “Thank you for being one of our country’s finest heroes.” That made me balk a little. Hero? That word was barely in my vocabulary. Sure, I’d heard it before but I wasn’t a hero. My drill sergeants had kicked that idea right out of my head the first day of recruitment. Soldiers were no heroes - just men who followed orders for the sake of their country.            I thanked her and started walking home. Or an apartment I could barely call home, I hadn’t been there in so long. “I’m not a hero. I’m not a hero. I’m not a hero.” My mantra echoed in my head, ricocheting around with my haphazard thoughts. I am not a hero. I fought a war in a hot country. I am not a hero. I killed countless men, women, children, animals - you name it, I probably put a bullet through it. I am not a hero. I have seen terrible things. Like what it looks like to have a limb hanging on to a man by a shred of body tissue, or what it looks like for a grief stricken mother to hold the torn pieces of her child in her shaking arms.

           I am not a hero. I have slept in ditches, in tents, in the ground. I have buried my friends, accidentally shot a few of them even. My sins and mistakes are weighted shackles driven into the skin of my wrists, pulling me down to the hell in which I belong. Surely, heroes are not meant to burn? Surely, people don’t look at them with pity and respect mingling in their eyes as if they are wounded gods. Surely, they haven’t done cruel, despicable, inhuman things? If that’s what it takes to be a hero, I’m not sure I want to be one.

I am not a hero, just a tortured soldier.

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Run, live to fly, fly to live, do or die

September 3, 1942

Dear Ma & Pa,

          How’s everyone and everything back home? My first two weeks at base have been really strange. I’m learning a lot. Just like Grandad said I would. Met a lot of guys too. Most of these fellas are pretty decent, save for the few who act like they’re the best the army’s got to offer when they can’t even shoot a rifle proper! Basic training is a real kick up the ass. I mean, I knew it would be hard, but not this hard! I’m sore all over all the time. But it ain’t nothin your Sprout can’t handle. I’m getting better already, and soon I’ll be able to lift more weight than Cousin Danny can! I can’t wait to see the look on his face when I finally beat him. He’ll be sorry for boastin bout his “muscles” then. Don’t expect too many calls from me. Phone calls have to be earned by units, and even then they time you. Crazy, huh? Anyway, there ain’t much to say. I’ll write as much as I can. Send my love to Micah and tell him to keep running track, cause he’s gonna need it if he wants to join the army like his big brother!

          Don’t miss me too much. I’ll be back before you know it.

Love, Jonathan.

October 5, 1942

Dear Ma & Pa,

          Sorry I haven’t written in so long. Things have been crazy here. Training takes up all my time. At the end of the day, I’m too tired to even blink, let alone write letters. I’m getting used to it though so I’ll try my hardest to write more. Thanks for your last letter. I’m glad to hear about Micah’s win at his track meet. He’s shaping up to be a proper jock. Who knows, he might even get one of those fancy letterman jackets soon. Send me a picture of him wearing it if he does. Did you guys hear about that rocket launch a few days ago? Man, that was something. They say it’s the first thing to reach space! Imagine that! A missile that can go to the stars. I’m trying not to focus on how terrifying a prospect that is for me and my unit. There’s been a ton of battles recently, and I can’t help but feel a little useless sitting around lifting weights and such. I want to be where the action is, out there helping my country! My time’s coming. I can feel it. They say my unit might be shipped off in a month or so. I can’t wait to finally do something real.

          I think that’s it for now. Send my love to Lottie and ask her to write me back. Missing you guys a lot.

Love, Jonathan.

October 5, 1942

My Lottie,

          I hope you’re not too mad at me anymore. I know you ain’t happy about me joining the army, but I had to. What kind of American would I be if I didn’t? I’m real sorry that I upset you, but I miss you lots. I wish you’d write me. I’m sure my folks have told you how I’m getting on here, so I won’t bother repeating myself. They told me you come around every day. Thanks for that. They need you there with me gone. Especially Micah. Keep them happy for me. You don’t have to do much other than be there. You know how much they love you. You know how much I love you. And if you don’t, then it’s more than I can even tell you.

          I’ve got to stop writing now, so sorry for the short letter. I know you want the best for me, Lottie but college can wait a while. I hope you can too.

Your favorite boy, Jonny.

October 24, 1942

Dear Ma & Pa,

          Haven’t written in a bit but I hope that phone call last week makes up for me. It was good to hear everyone’s voices again. I forgot how weird Micah sounds through the telephone. It gave me something to laugh about for a few days. I was just told that my unit is being shipped off in a few days. We’re going to some place called El Alamein. Some of the guys tell me it’s in Egypt. I’ve always wanted to see those pyramids.  It’ll be a good change to be somewhere hot for once. Brooklyn is way too cold for anyone. I’m a little nervous but I’m sure it’s just cause I’m a first-timer. I’ve gotten a lot bigger since you saw me, Ma and Pa. I’ve got muscles on me now and I’m almost as broad as Cousin Danny. Micah sure would be jealous of me, if he could even recognize me. I’m sure you know this by the time this letter reaches you, but we lost the USS Hornet and the Enterprise got a little bit damaged. It’s not all bad though. The Japs lost many aircrafts too. Things are lookin alright for us, so far. You win some, you lose some, right? I’m hoping we win a hell of a lot more than we lose.

          I’ll tell you guys about El Alamein when I get there. Think about that, my next letter will be from Egypt! Don’t worry about me too much, Sprout can handle himself.

Love, Jonathan.

October 24, 1942.

My precious Lottie,

          How are you doing? It was real good to get that letter from you. I’m glad you ain’t mad at me anymore. That phone call made me happier than I thought any phone call could. Hearing your voice made me feel like a blind man getting his sight back. I’d been lost for a while, but hearing your voice put me back on track. I mean that. Sorry if that was a little cheesy. You know I ain’t no good at romance. Anyway, how are our friends back home? I’m missing Zeke and his stupid impressions. He always was crap at doing them right, but he made me laugh so I guess I’ll forgive him. It’s great news to hear that Lizzie’s pregnant. I’m sure Cole was happy to get that letter, huh? You’re going to be a great aunt, Lottie. I’m sure you’d be a great mom too, but maybe that’s a conversation for when I get back. I can just see you blushing when you read this. I still remember how much of a tomato you look like when you go red. A cute tomato.

          My dad told me he shows you all of my letters. I hope you don’t do the same! I hope you’re doing good. I love you and miss you loads.

Yours, Jonny.

November 4, 1942.

Dear Ma & Pa,

          How are you? Egypt isn’t as hot as I thought it would be. Still hotter than I’m used to, but it’s actually quite pleasant. I prefer Egyptian weather over Brooklyn’s, that’s for sure. That’s the only thing I like better, though. I fought my first battle yesterday. It wasn’t as glorious as I thought it was going to be. It was weird. I thought it was going to be all guns blazing with maybe an epic song playing in the background. It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t like anything in the movies or even in those army commercials I used to adore. I feel like I’ve been lied to. They don’t tell you so many things in those commercials and those damn movies. They leave out all the important bits. They’ll show you a passionate love affair and unbreakable friendships, but not all the bad stuff. I’ll spare you the details of “the bad stuff”, but trust me when I say it’s bad. The good news is that we won the battle. The Nazis retreated in the night like the cowards they are. We also got word that we beat the Japs at Guadalcanal. The odds are looking good for us. I’m not sure where I’m headed next, but I’ll be sure to send you my address.

          Don’t worry about your Sprout. He’ll be fine. I love and miss you all so much.

Love, Jonathan.

November 4, 1942.

My dearest Lottie,

          I’m sure you’ve read the letter I sent to my parents by now so I’ll cut the acting. I was trying not to worry them too much, but I know you saw through that. I never was a good liar. War is hell, Lottie. I’m sure this is what the Bible means when it’s talking about the eternal fire. I wasn’t injured or harmed, but the things I saw. I can’t even think about them without my hands shaking. I know what Zeke would say if he could read this. He’d call me a pussy. But he ain’t seen war. He ain’t seen the blood and the death and the horror that I have. I thought I could kill, I really did. All I had to do was shoot a few Nazis. And I did at first but then there was this… guy. I don’t even know if Nazis deserve to be called humans, but that’s the only way I know how to describe him. And he was clutching this photograph to his chest as he lay bleeding out against a rock. A huge chunk of his leg was gone, but he only had eyes for that photograph.

          I had to shoot him, Lottie. And when I picked up that photograph, I saw a kid. A little baby, who reminded me so much of that baby Lizzie’s got growing in her belly. I shot a man who, for all I know, was in the same situation as Cole. I made a child fatherless. And I know it’s different because Cole and Lizzie ain’t Nazis but I can’t help but feel like a monster. That guy looked so in love with his kid and I put a bullet in his head. I watched the light fade out of his eyes. Am I a monster, Lottie? Or am I a hero for killing those Nazi bastards? I sure don’t feel like a hero.

          I’m sorry for upsetting you with all this, but I had to tell someone. It’s eating me up inside. That picture you sent me makes me feel a lot better. You look beautiful in that photograph, like you always do. I keep it next to the photo of the kid. I know I shouldn’t have taken it, but I did anyway. It was calling out to me and now, I can’t bring myself to get rid of it. I don’t know what to think anymore, Lottie. I’m confused and I think I hate myself. I know one thing though, and it’s that I can’t wait for your next letter. You’ve got a way of putting my mind at rest, and I know you ain’t going to disappoint me.

Yours always, Jonny.

November 13, 1942.

Dear Ma & Pa,

          How’s everything back home? I’m in Guadalcanal now. You’ve undoubtedly heard about it, but there was a battle between us and the Japs. It was a big one. We won, of course. But at what cost? We lost so many men. We lost a lot of ships too. I’m told the USS Juneau sunk with almost all of its crew. Mike Davis was on that ship. Do you remember Mike? He used to come round our house on the weekends and he and I would play war. I wish I’d never played war. And I wish I’d never known Mike because now all I can think about is how that 6 year-old boy I used to play with is lying dead at the bottom of the ocean.

          There’s been talk going around and everyone thinks we’re being sent to Australia next. I can’t tell you much. Hell, I don’t even know much to begin with. Top secret and all that. I’ll send you an address as soon as I know it. I never thought I’d be going to Australia, especially not under these circumstances. Everything I’ve heard about Australia is about how nice of a vacation spot it is. I can’t imagine a war going on at the seaside. Can you? Or maybe it’s better to not imagine it. Yeah, I think that’s better.

          I’ll write you as soon as I can. Missing you more than ever.

Love, Jonathan.

November 13, 1942.

My favorite person in the whole wide world,

          How are you? I want to know every single detail of your days. Mine are too morbid for eyes as beautiful as yours. The fight against the Japs was hard, to say the least. I saw more dead bodies than a mathematician could possibly count. Did you know that I wanted to be a mathematician when I was a kid? None of this army life shit. I wanted to be a mathematician. I wonder when that changed. I wish I’d become a mathematician instead of a soldier. It seems a lot easier than the life I’m living now. Would you have loved a young boy wanting to be a mathematician? In my mind, you would have. Anyway, enough with the what-ifs. No use crying over spilt milk, right? Thank you ever so much for your last letter. It helped me more than you know. I took your advice and decided not to think about what I’m doing. I know it ain’t moral of me and that I should be thinking about this war and everything that’s going on. That’s the right thing to do. But I just can’t do it. I think I’d go nuts if I tried. So I’m blocking everything out. I’m just following orders and trying to get my job done. Each man I shoot is the enemy, and each man that dies on my side made a sacrifice for his country. No point analyzing something I can’t change. Get out and get home, preferably alive. Just like you said, Lottie.

          That’s about all I’ve got this time. Your picture is the first and last thing I see everyday and given my circumstances, I couldn’t be a happier man.

Hopefully your favourite person in the whole wide world, Jonny.

November 28, 1942.

Dear Ma & Pa,

          I know you’ve received the official letter already, but I’m writing in the hopes that you’re not as worried as I think you are. It’s true that I’m wounded, but only a little. Tensions were a little high here in Brisbane and a few of our soldiers got into an argument with some of the Australian guys. I tried to break it up but one guy shot something and glass just went flying everywhere. I’ll spare you the medical talk. A piece of shrapnel went in between my knee and hip and it broke my leg. Another piece went a little ways into my back. It sounds a lot worse than it actually is. I’m all sewn and wrapped up. I look a little bit like that mummy costume Ma made for Micah when he was 8. I tell ya, it ain’t fun wearing it. Don’t you worry about me. Sprout will be just fine. I’ll be up and running in no time, trust me. Congratulate Micah on his making the varsity track team. Give him a big hug and head rub from me, just like the ones I used to give him. I’m in the medical unit now so there ain’t much else going on.

          Send my love to Lottie and tell her I’m sorry I can’t write to her. They’ve got me on some meds that keep me woozy most of the time. Make sure none of you worry about me too much. And don’t cry, Ma.

Love, Jonathan.

December 2, 1942. Dear Ma & Pa,

          Thank you for your last letter. It meant a lot to me to read everyone’s good wishes. And thanks for the picture too. It stays by my bed, and you guys and Micah are always smiling up at me.

          I’ve got bad news, Ma and Pa. Things ain’t looking good for my health right now. There’s still a bit of shrapnel stuck inside of me, and they’re having trouble getting it out. I’m running a bit of a fever too. The doctor advised me to “get my things in order”. Guess that’s code for “get ready for death”. How do you even begin to do that? I’m real woozy all the time so that’s why this letter might be a little strange. I’ve been in this hospital bed for days now and I don’t seem to be improving, or so they tell me. I heard a few of the nurses talking and they think I’ve only got a few days left. So I decided to write this letter in case I, ya know. Die.

          I don’t know where to start. You guys have been the best parents I could ever have asked for. I can’t thank you enough so I’m not going to use up all this paper trying to. I’m sorry for everything. Sorry for all the bad crap I’ve ever done to you. And I’m sorry for making you go through all this. I should’ve listened when you told me not to join the army. Sorry for my badly written letters being the only lousy memorabilia you have left of me. Sorry for making you worry and cry and worry and cry some more. And most of all, I’m sorry for dying. You don’t deserve to know what it feels like to lose a child, and I’m sorry to be the reason you’re in this mess right now.

          I know I’m in no position to ask after all that I’ve put you through, but I need you to do a few things for me. First, take care of Micah. I know you will regardless of me asking. But I want you to give him everything he needs. He’s a good kid and he deserves the whole world. Second, take care of Lottie. I’ve put that girl through hell and somehow she still loves me. Make sure she doesn’t do something stupid like kill herself. Lastly, I need you to take care of yourselves. Mourn for me, but make sure you pick yourselves up after. Be happy again. God knows how, but be happy.

          I’m missing you both so much that my head hurts.

Love forever and always, Your little Sprout.

December 2, 1942. Dear Micah,

          I hope you’re doing well. I’m sorry I haven’t written you personal letters before this. I just wanted you to have something of your stupid older brother. You’ve definitely heard the news in Ma and Pa’s letter by now so I won’t repeat myself.

          I’m sorry, Micah. I’m sorry you don’t have an older brother anymore because of a stupid war fought over stupid things. I’m sorry I won’t be around for the rest of your life. I’m sure it’ll be a hell of a good one though. You once told me that lives are just stories. So make sure you make yours a bestseller, you hear me? I want your life to be the best piece of fiction the world’s got to offer. And I have no doubts that you’ll make it the best damn book anyone’s ever read.

          I’m mighty proud of you, Micah. I know I don’t tell you enough, but I am. You keep winning all those gold medals and getting those perfect grades of yours. Be whoever you want to be when you grow up. I just have one request; don’t ever become a soldier. This life ain’t for you. You’re too good to be stuck in the army. Go out into the world and change it. Don’t do anything short of that or you’ll be wasting that brain and heart you’ve got.

          I don’t know what else to say to you, Micah. Be happy. I’m so incredibly sorry for everything. Do me a favour okay? Don’t forget me. That’s all I want from you. To be the best you can and remember your idiot brother who went off seeking glory in the army. I love and miss you more than I can tell you, little brother.

All the love in the world, Your big brother Jo.

December 2, 1942. My one and only Lottie,

Oh, Lottie. There ain’t languages good enough for me to describe how incredible you are. I’m not going to try. I never was good at writing anyway.

           I’m sorry, Lottie. I’ve apologized to everyone in my letters, but I feel I owe you the biggest apology. I took 4 years of your life from you. I made you waste it on a high school rascal and now, on a dying soldier. Please believe me when I tell you you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I know people throw that phrase around like a baseball, but it’s true. I couldn’t be even a quarter of the man I am today without you. Somewhere along the lines, you made an idiot boy grow into a man. Jesus only knows how you did it.

          I wanted to leave you something, but I realized I don’t really got nothing. All I have are the photos everyone’s sent me and the one of that German kid. I don’t know why I still have it. They’ll send it back with my body. I wonder what you’ll do with it. I can’t help but think about that kid. How his life turned out now that his father is dead. This makes me think about Lizzie and Cole’s little one. How it’s gonna turn out and how it’s life is gonna be like. I know you’ll be the best aunt in the whole world. I just wish I could be there to see you in action. But I won’t be seeing anything more. War’s a bitch, isn’t it?

          I’m sorry that I didn’t listen to you when you tried to stop me from joining the army. I hate this damn war for ruining our lives. I’m sorry for taking your dreams away from you. And I’m sorry I won’t be able to live out my dreams with you. When I came back, I was supposed to go to college and get a part-time job. We’d take strolls and eat ice cream during my lunch hour. After I graduated, I was supposed to get a decent job and buy you a house. I was going to propose to you. At the roof garden of school where we met. I would have gotten you white roses and when you were looking at the admittedly crappy view, I would have gotten down on one knee and monologued my love for you. We would have had 3 children. Two boys and a little girl. They would have had your eyes, your nose, your undying happiness and my dirty blond hair. We would have grown old together. The mathematician and his beautiful wife. It would’ve been a love story better than anything old Shakespeare could come up with.

          Guess it wasn’t meant to be, huh? Life ain’t gonna grant me any of my wishes, and I can only hope it’s because there’s something better in store for you. I don’t feel so bad when I think of things that way. I hope you find happiness, even if it’s not with me. I’ll be watching over you from wherever I end up. I’ll fight through hell and high water to look out for you, you can bet on that. Don’t you ever settle for nothing other than the best. That’s all you deserve, Lottie.

          I love you to the end of the universe and back, Charlotte Anne Richardson.

More love than you can possibly ever fathom, Jonathan Alexander Charles.