Asche S Last Letter

Asche's Last Letter — Asche


-(This letter is written badly. His penmanship is abysmal.)

Dear Mom and family,
Odds are, if you're reading this I've gone and kicked the bucket. You never really think it'll happen to you. You'll be the one a lucky shot grazes. You faint and they mistake you for dead. As much as it hurts, the aches let me know my hand is still there. Still working. But if I'm gone, I suppose you won't have to worry about me anymore. It won't ache anymore. I just wonder what happens next?
I worry about the men I leave behind too. This promotion makes me nervous. You become friends with these people, only to lead them or walk beside them into God knows what. Usually, it's a gaggle of angry Turks. You watch them die, you watch them get injured and you heal beside them. They were practically brothers to me. I played cards with 'em (Thanks for the cards by the way, Louise.), ate the same rations - everything. I only hope they make it out safely after I've gone. I don't know. Maybe I'll go in my sleep, then it won't be such a worry. Not nearly as heroic as dieing for country, Queen and on and on but dieing is still dieing. It sounded a lot better on the recruitment poster, believe me. Also, the flies. Bloody heck the flies.
There are so many thoughts, profound and otherwise I wanted to put here. But I only have so much paper and I fear my knuckles are stiffening again. Do people normally ramble this much when writing these things? No matter what, don't worry about me. Nothing is unendurable, and I will be as patient as I can. Even if I am gone, I know there are others who are good blokes. I only hope that people learn how awful this war really is and decide not to do it again. Somehow, I doubt it. There's too much anger and not enough things for people. That's a bloody depressing last thought. I figured I'd write about girls or something more poetic. I guess at least someone was nice enough to dig this out of my pocket and mail it.
With all my love and hope,
Asche.

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