A Soldier on the front dies in the middle of writing a letter home. It is finished and sent by the man who killed him.
No word limit.
No imagination limit.
No emotions limit.
No Epoch Boundations.
"There are many times while I am out in the field that I really feel the need to talk to you," 27-year-old 1st Lt. Dean Allen wrote to his wife, Joyce, from Vietnam on July 10, 1967. “Not so much about us but what I have on my mind.” At 6-foot-1, 200 pounds, Allen cut an imposing figure, but under his tough exterior was a compassionate, thoughtful officer who genuinely cared for his men. “Being a good platoon leader is a lonely job,” he wrote.
Allen continued the letter the next day:
It got so dark I had to stop last night. …
Writing like that doesn’t really do that much good because you aren’t here to answer me or discuss something. I guess it helps a little though because you are the only one I would say these things to. Maybe sometime I’ll even try to tell you how scared I have been or am now. … Sometimes I really wonder how I’ll make it. My luck is running way to good right now. I just hope it lasts.
Don’t worry about what I have said, these are just things I think about sometimes. I am so healthy I can’t get a day out of the field and you know I’m to damn mean to die. …
Sorry I haven’t written more but the weather is against me. You can’t write out here when it rains hour after hour.
I love you with all my heart.
All my love always, Dean
Four days later, Allen stepped on a land mine. He became one of the more than 58,000 Americans who died in Vietnam.
One of the letters I read recently. This letter ended in a different scenario with different theme.
But I've provided you the building blocks of the story already (above), which has a unique twist in between, follow your heart, pen down how it feels to live as the selfless protector of the country.
This is your BattleField!