Dear Annabell,
Wars are just things that end up in the history books of those who can afford them as some huge event that some how dratically effected their lives. But they don't acually know what it's like to be in the war. I know you may not agree with me, but I've seen things here that I will never forget. Things a boy at my age shouldn't see. I wouldn't get into much describtion because I don't want you to have the same nightmares I have. I just wish I was home. I know I said it was horrible there, but I lied. No. I didn't lie, I didn't really know. At home we didn't have a lot of food. But I ate what I was given no matter how much the hunger pained me. Here we have food. But I can't eat it. It always reminds me of the people we have to take in. Those people's lives that have been ruined. I know I shouldn't be writing this but if they don't see it, and you burn it right after you read it, I'm sure they won't be able to catch me. I don't like that Hitler man. He said he would lead Germany ahead. But I feel like we've fallen back a lot. I better go before an officer comes. I'll try to write if I can in the next month of so.
Your Brother,
Kain
He folded the paper as neatly and quickly as he could and stuffed it into the small envelope that had turned yellow from long months of being at the bottom of his bags. His blue eyes looked up as a tall, thin man walked in with his eyes narrowed. "What are you doing soldier?" he snapped at Kain, the boy who had been going against the person who had started this war. "Nothing Sir!" he yelled back, saluting in the proper manner and waiting for the officer to leave after his brief grunt and nod.
Kain watched as he left and let out a quiet breath of relief. He might have acted different if he had known which leading officer that was but they all looked the same to him. Everybody looked the same to him. He let out a slight grunt as another soldier walked through and continued to shuffle things around in his bag, making sure the letter wouldn't be seen, at least until he got it to the post and out to his sister. He was never able to write her so this to him was one of the most important things he could do. Of course he was aware that she was worried but he really couldn't do anything. Wars didn't permit that, especially not this one.
[X]
Yes. I'm writing a story about World War Two. It's the most interesting war for me and I felt like writing a letter so I turned it into a story. If you guys don't want to read it. Don't. ^^ I could care less. Anyways. I have to think about what to write now.
[X]Edit
I am in a writing mood. So. I am going to write a poem. Again.
[O] Growing Pains
Imaginations run wild, free of guilt and charge. Childrens more free than others, a lost toy wanted at large. But as they grow old their minds will slowly stop. The time erased forever on a crayola drawn clock. Mice are running rampant, through rain dripping streets. While teenagers sit awkwardly in the movie's back set seats. Stiring dreams will haulter, wondering if it's so wrong. Wanting to be young again, when little things weren't strong. Strings broke, tears fled, little girls laid with curly twirls. Of pony filled, frosting covered lands and unreal worlds. A fifteen year old can only wait and strained thoughts. Of dreams and such that are only forced to rot. And no matter what boys will be boys and girls with be girls. But each grows up different, destened to paint a different mural. And in the end our memories can be good or they can be bad. Keeping the better off ones may make you happy or sad. Because broken hearts will heal, only so many times. Pomes are just some our thoughts, related over rhymes.
Yeah. Growing Pains. Now I don't feel like writing. :3
Zombie Doll` · Thu Sep 29, 2005 @ 01:32am · 11 Comments |