The Note From A Dead Man

The soldier was laying there dead.

A corner of a piece of paper peaked out of his right pocket.

It would soon be ruined by his blood.

The note read,


“Hey you,


I miss you so much.

It’s been awhile now

and I’m starting to forget what your lips taste like.

I’m beginning to forget what your voice sounds like.

I hear too many gunshots and screams,

they’re starting to drown out my memories of the good things…

It’s all fading babe.

All the good stuff.

You, my brother, football, the first night we met, music,

it’s all getting pushed out to make room for the horrors.

I just want to remember your smell again

and forget the smell of death.


I don’t believe in the cause anymore.

I hate this fucking war.

Nothing is worth this much death.

Nothing….


I don’t know if I'll be the same man you fell in love with when you see me again.

War changes man.

I’ll still do my best to be the man that you deserve but….


things will be different.


I hope that’s okay with you…


You’re the only reason I continue to fight in this war.

You deserve more than a deserter.

You deserve a man who can make it through this.

I will make it through this for you babe.

I will see you again.

I promise.

I have to see you dancing drunk in the kitchen again.

That single idea will keep me going through all the death.

Babe… I just need to tell you that I love you as much as I could possibly love someone in this crazy fucked up world.


You’re my everything.


Pray that this war ends soon

and we will be together again.


Always yours,


Robert Covington.”


I picked up the note and read it.

Fucking tragic.

I felt sorry for Robert.

I looked over to my partner

and handed it to him.

He set down his scythe,

pulled down his black hood,

and read the note too.

He’s eyes darted back and forth as he read.

God he was an ugly bastard.

He looked up when he was done reading

and saw me glaring at him.

He just shrugged at me.


“Seriously man?? We had to take Robert? He was a solid dude. Why him??”

He looked right into my eyes and didn’t say a word.

He looked away, picked up his scythe, and kept walking.

I kept walking too.

“Look around.”

He pointed to the bodies with his scythe.

They stretched out for miles,

corpse

after

corpse.


“None of this is fair,” he said.


I looked up, scanned the land in front of me,

and quickly looked down at my shoes.


“Yeah, I know….


this job just fucking sucks man.” I said.


He stopped, turned around, waited for me to catch up to him

and put his arm around my shoulder.

The sun was setting in front of us.

We kept walking over the corpses

and into the horizon.


"Are you still down to get a drink when we’re off??”

The reaper looked at me, patted me on the back and said,

“How about I pay for the drinks tonight?”

“Oh hell yeah!”

We bumped fist

and kept walking.


I was getting my drinks paid for by the reaper.


I wonder how many other dead writers could say that?

"Can I have that?"

I pointed to the note in his hand.

He nodded and gave it to me.

I gently folded it up

put it in my pocket,

and stepped over another solider.






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