June 7, 2012 - 4:56pm — Sicily
Hopefully this'll be the completed version of Zash's letter. I like it, so it might stay. This is based off of a young soldier's opinions of World War I, specifically when and after the US entered the war. Poor Zash.
I know I should have told you. I know I shouldn’t have cowered; my tail tucked between my legs like a lowly dog and slunk off into the night. I should have told you, straight up front. I…just … I just couldn’t bear to see your face, Mother. I couldn’t bear the thought of hurting you. I am your son; I wanted to protect you just as much as you wanted to protect me. I wanted to wrap you up in my arms and shield you from the evils of this world, where everything doesn’t have a pot of gold, where every stranger can’t always be trusted. I wanted to let you keep your happy little bubble, just for you. Where you could flitter about, humming and dusting just like you used to when I was young.
Just as much as I wanted to protect you, I wanted to be free, to sever that leash holding me back. I was stupid enough to think that I could protect you from where I was… that I could protect both of us. So while you were crying at your table, mourning the disappearance of your only son, I was masquerading my way into the army, planning to show everyone just how strong I was.
Mother, no form of strength could drag me out of this Hell. This is not the glory I was told of. I thought that by going out here, to face the enemy, I would be protecting you, protecting those I love. I thought that by showing our military strength, the enemy would turn tail and run. They haven’t run. They bombard us with gas and bombs alike, keep us in our trenches. We are burrowed in the ground, forced into hiding like a hunter would a fox, just waiting to be forced out by the hint of smoke.
I do not want to be the fox, Mother. I want to be the hunting dog, braying victory to my master. This is a different fight.
