Letter From the Front

Dear Clara & Arnold,

I was glad to hear from you. I miss the two of you so much! Clara, I was also surprised to hear that you got a job on a farm. It’s crazy to think of you in a real hardworking job, although I know you are very capable. I am alive although at this point it doesn’t feel that way. I was shot in the leg during battle yesterday. It hurts but nothing is as bad as the emotional torment I’ve been through. It all happened yesterday while I was on the battlefront. I reached over the trench to see the other side and someone shot me. All of a sudden everything felt like it was moving in slow motion. Other soldiers were walking over me like I was sidewalk. I had to lay there for what felt like hours. I had wrapped my leg in a coat as to not bleed out. After a long-awaited time, someone came to get me and took me to emergency.

I don’t know who the doctors were or what they looked like. I couldn’t tell because, by that time my vision had gone blurry, everything looked like it was a foggy day.  I must have passed out because that was the last thing I could remember before waking up in the hospital. I felt much better. I laid in a small hospital bed in one big room with plenty of other people. The hospital was so crammed full, they wanted to discharge me as fast as possible to open another bed. I felt in shock and all I could think about was how I didn’t want to go back. I didn’t want to have to face battle again. The hospital wasn’t the nicest but the nurses there were very kind. I could hear a man several beds away from me screaming at the top of his lungs. He was in a similar situation to me although they couldn’t save his leg and had to amputate. I must stay thankful that I am still mobile. It may have been for the best though if I wasn’t mobile, maybe they would not send me back into battle.

When I went to the hospital, they also found out that I had trench foot. It is almost as bad as getting shot in the leg. I got it from standing in those mucky trenches. The water is greyish brown and, smells like sewage, and crawls with rats, and lice. I am constantly itchy in the trenches and crave a shower. My foot has gone black as night. A couple of days ago me and some of my buddies sat together and had a chat. My friend Anthony also had trench foot and when his General found out Anthony was punished because it was somehow his fault. Good thing no one has checked the bottom of my feet yet. I know Arnold has a few years left until he turns eighteen but when he does, and if this war isn’t over, you must do everything in your power to make sure he doesn’t go. Please don’t get me wrong I want him to help serve for his country, but I don’t want him to go through what I did. He can stay at home and help behind the scenes. I know it’s bad for those who don’t go because they will be tormented and called cowards the rest of their lives, but going is a million times worse. I hope to see you guys soon xoxo.

Love,

John

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