day 6: the front – cathedral
Dear Jessica,
Silence. That’s all there was when we found out about Andrew Sartre. Someone made a move for the door, back out into the field, but one look from the sergeant and he stopped.
Ever since then, Theo has been inconsolable. Not in any crying sense, mind you. He’s just been more distant than ever. When his watch shift ended at midnight, and a man came to relieve him, Theo shrugged him off and told him to get more sleep. I saw this with tired eyes, and while I was tempted to get up and talk to Theo, I figured that we all have got our own problems by this point.
This is a picture I took of some of the men back at camp. We had only been training for a few days, and were still learning each other’s names. Happier times.
Last night, I dreamt that we met inside a cathedral. The stain glass was removed, and in its place, sunlight poured through, bathing everything in hot light, but the air was perfectly cool. I saw you come from the altar, in a light blue dress. You were praying. Maybe for me.
You were smiling when you came to me. I held your hand, and like that, all the pews and songbooks were gone. There was only you and me, dancing to some unheard music. Before I woke, you tried to whisper something into my ear, but I couldn’t hear it over the din of the light. I can still feel the fabric of your dress on my fingers.
This morning, the sergeant was passing around a bucket of cold water for shaving. I always found that strange – why would someone bother shaving in the middle of a war?
It’s hard keeping focused. We spend so much time waiting, being bored quite frankly, but nobody wants the alternative. At least, not anymore. The bombing of the town stopped the moment the first of our platoons pulled in. From the messages that Sergeant Virgil has been getting from runners, we now have almost the entire south end of the town. We are to stay put until reinforcements from the trench line arrive.
A few hours ago, the situation changed. Even through the thick walls of the barn, we could hear it – the creaking sounds of treads, moving somewhere, off in the distance. No one knows where it came from, whose it is, or how close it’s getting. Sergeant Virgil has been waiting for runners, but nobody’s coming in. I just know that it’s been getting louder in the last few minutes.
Sounds. The door.
T.
yesterday
- tomorrow
