Prologue - Letter 49

A woman laid in a grand bed, it’s size is probably two times the size of the biggest bed you can imagine, the room is decorated with only the finest materials and items, all of these expensive things would surely make anyone happy, but not the woman. Her face is practically the definition of sadness, and despite being in such a huge bed, made with the most expensive and comfortable material, she seems out of place, and uncomfortable.

A couple knocks on her door snaps her out of her miserable trance.

“M-miss Angela!” A man's nervous voice called out to her from the other side of the door.

“Yes Hippie?” The woman responds to the voice on the other side of the door, she's now sitting upright on the bed and looking towards the door.

“A-another l-letter came in from the b-boy!” He says struggling to control his stutter as he speaks.

The woman clutches her dress and she smiles in anticipation and excitement, a total 180 compared to her earlier expression.

“Slide it under the door please, Hippie!” The woman yells out in excitement as she springs out of the bed.

“Y-yes ma’am, w-with p-pleasure!” The man stutters.

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It takes a second and the woman is waiting at the door practically dancing as she waits as she taps her feet unable to contain her excitement. Finally the letter slipped under the door and the man’s hurried footsteps can be heard walking away from the door down the long hallway on the other side.

She grabs the letter quickly and before she rips the letter on accident she takes a deep breath to calm herself. Her pale hands gently unfolded the paper and she read the contents of the letter.

Letter 49,

March 4th XXXX

To: Angela Swain

I’ve been thinking about you, even now in this time of conflict. I wonder if it is my everlasting infatuation for you, or my stubbornness that keeps me thinking about you, let alone writing these letters to you. But I still do, I still plan on sending this letter out into the void that you have presented to me. Do you get these? Do you read them? Do you even care? I guess in our time apart I have grown slightly bitter towards your silence, but I know you would not ignore me without good reason. I just wish I knew that reason.

I am sure you know that they are talking about The War ending soon, we might be winning, I am not sure of it. That young man I wrote to you about a few months ago, Paul, passed on a few weeks ago, an artillery shell. With things like that happening, still we are being told about an end in sight, I am sure you can understand my pessimism. No? I am still uninjured though, this has presented me with a sort of… Guilt? I am not sure, but I feel like people are looking at me with disdain. With all this death happening around us, I feel like they are angry at me for being well (physically), and I feel the same. Since Paul, I have not really made any more friends, and in that time I have been thinking more about you, and when I do I can feel the cool breeze across my face, I can hear the trees and bush in the wind, for those moments the screams are drowned out, and I feel apart from this hell.

How are you? Wherever you are, I cannot know without you telling me, so I am sorry if I ramble along about myself too much, old friend. I still hope to God that you read these, even 10 years since we have spoken, and I hope in 10 years you are still reading them. Even if you are happy and with a family, and I am dead and buried, I hope you still read and cherish these letters to you, My best friend in the entire world, Angy.

From Your Friend Zee

Tears start to dampen the pages, and a woman lets out a small whimper, trying to stay silent.

“Zee…” The woman shakily says under her breath.