Chapter Text
The sun sets with a promise of rising again.
Were it to ever go back on this phrase,
and forever below the horizon remain,
the moon with no light cannot take its place.
8th of April, 1917
Dear
I made it back to the 8th earlier today, just before sunrise. A truck on its way to the field hospital just south of here took me with them. They offered me a bed should I want one, but I declined. Despite the fuzzy veil draped over my mind – presumably from all of the medicine I had been injected with, paired with lack of sleep – and the swelling bruises, I am alive and well enough. With every limb still attached and my life yet within grasp, which to many others is not the case, I cannot complain.
Not well enough according to the nurses, however, who had looked at me as if I had gone mad when I had asked to be returned here. My temperature had only risen since I had arrived at the medical tent, yet I had shook like a leaf. An infection in the wound on my hand, one of the nurses said. From what exactly, I did not tell them. Preferably they would have liked to keep me until Friday at the very least, fearing it was heading in the direction of blood poisoning, and – unspoken – eventually my death.
I, however, had to leave immediately. I had to leave before a new order was given, a new battle started, and the vicious cycle resumed. Because I knew it eventually would, and know it eventually will.
Perhaps it already has. Perhaps as I write this, the whistle has been blown and young boys’ final fates have been set. And perhaps in the end our sacrifices have been for naught. But, at least back here with the long stretch of land between us, I can indulge in delusion and pretend it never does.
Anyhow, it has started raining just now – quite heavily, in fact. The clouds appeared early this morning without warning, just when I got back, dark grey and heavy with rain. It was almost as if a mountain on the horizon had awoken, and shot out enough ash to cover the entire sky several times over. It has only darkened since then, and surprisingly it is only now that it rains. Perhaps it will storm later, sky as black as the night, with thunder and all.
You always loved the rain.
It was meant to be sunny today. One of the nurses back with the Second Devons told me so as she took care of my hand – all gentle touches and kind smiles. It was meant to be bright and warm today, a cloudless sky with a mild breeze. She said it would be good for my health, to feel the sun on my skin, the wind in my hair and the warmth in my soul. It was meant to be sunny today, yet I have never seen a day as cold, dark and wet as this. Perhaps she lied, planting a seed of hope in my mind for a brighter tomorrow. Perhaps the forecast was wrong and the sun was never actually meant to shine on this day. Or, perhaps it had always meant to be a sunny day today, but without you here it has no longer a reason to be.
Without you, it seems as if the sun has disappeared and the world has gone dark.
Yet despite this, no one has made any mention of its absence. They talk of the rain drenching their clothes and wetting their hair, of the mud covering their shoes and slowing their steps, and of the cold sinking into their skin and making them shiver. The medicine in my veins numbs me, and the medical tent shields my head, relieving me temporarily of the effects of the elements, yet I seem to miss the sun most of all.
Though, perhaps we miss two different suns, crave different warmth and seek different light. Because whilst they long for theirs, I mourn mine. Mine sits not behind the dark clouds, awaiting its moment to shine once more, for my sun is gone.
You only wanted to help – of course you did. Because you are foolish, and stupid, and so very kind. That is our enemy, a monster we have been put up against in this terrible war, and a target for the weapons we have been given. You watch his plane crash and burn, and rather than cheer or laugh, you frown and panic. You see not the uniform which the flames burn, but rather the skin beneath which it hurts. You look in his eyes and see inside a man just like yourself – young, scared, and longing for home – and as foolish as you are, you want to help. And as foolish as I am, I let you.
Your kindness has always been my biggest weakness. Perhaps, after long since losing my own, I wanted to preserve yours.
Well, I am running out of space to write now. I was only given a page from a medic’s notebook, small and speckled with blood, and I had thought that would do. He had offered me another when I had first asked, and an envelope should I want it sent, but I had thought this was all I would need. It seems, however, I would not have minded the entire book had he offered.
The envelope, however, I can spare him the trip to get. I will leave this with you, shall you ever want to read it.
Will