Don sat on the ground, tapping a pencil on his chin. They had just been informed that they'd be corresponding with the boys fighting in the Pacific and vice versa. When it was his turn to draw, the name R.V. Burgin was scrawled messily on the piece of paper. He sighed and began to write. "Dear R.V. Burgin,...How are you holding up on those godforsaken islands? You givin' the enemy hell?" He knew it was a pathetic start, but he honestly didn't know what to tell the man. Next one'll be better.
They had informed Burgin that they’d be expecting a letter from the 101 airborne, at first he was skeptical but the fact was that letters from home were few, pretty torn and where more often than not, lost in transport. So after he had thought on the idea for a while, he found himself looking forward to the arrival of the letter. Reading the letter, he could feel bubbles rise in his chest. What would he write? What if he goofed entirely? Burgin moved the pen to the empty sheet of paper and took a breath. He would just write whatever he felt like, this guy was just another soldier, and he would know exactly what Burgin was saying. It wasn’t like corresponding with your ma’ back home, this was someone just like you. “Dear Donald Malarkey. Holdin up pretty well as for now, granted some new distraction. Guess got you to thank for that. We givin the enemy hell, the enemy giving us hell and the islands are fucking us both over. How things in Europe? The Krauts givin y’all a nice welcome?” Burgin leaned back and put his pen down next to the folded paper. That’ll have to do for now.