Young Writers Society

I think about you every night before I go to sleep. I imagine your stubble tickling my chin, remember the way you used to whisper into my ear, picture your eyes laughing in the dim light of the room.

I also think of where you are now. I wonder if it smells like dry dust because of the sands, if the army blanket is thick enough (or maybe too thick, knowing you), if one of the guys in your shared room snores. I envision the pushups you do before going to sleep, the familiar muscles of your arms rippling with effort. I ache for your laughing lips, amused with a joke some nameless soldier threw into the air. You know that your laughter will make him feel good about himself and brighten everyone's mood. That's always been half the reason you laugh.

Is it horribly grey there, or are there colors? Is everything just functional, or is there anything for fun? I hope there are colors and flowers: useless, pretty things to cheer you up.

Your hands must be rougher now. You must be used to holding a gun. Have you killed anyone yet? Please tell me you haven't. Please, please, please, tell me you didn't take a life just yet, because I worry about you. You have to be mentally prepared, Honey. You know how I feel about killing… but if it means that you can come back to me, it's – it's what needs to be done. Do what you have to in order to keep sane. Talk about it, if you need to, or don't think of it at all. I just don't want that moment to crash on you like hail on a bright, sunny day.

I want Eli to be proud of her daddy.

She's sleeping in our bed now, because she claims to have nightmares. She doesn't, really, she just doesn't want to be all alone. I'm a bit ashamed to admit I let her in every time, simply because I don't want to be alone either. Her golden curls are growing longer and softer, just like mine, and her cheeks are the rosiest cheeks I ever saw on a healthy child. She jabbers on and on to anyone who's willing to hear about her hero of a father.

Everyone at preschool loves her. Looks like you're going to have to fend some boys off when she gets to high school, since, I swear to God, she's beautiful. She takes after you with the eyes, all blue and grey, penetrating and curious at the same time, and after my mother with her button-like nose.

I'm doing alright too. I stick to all my warm, comforting sweaters like I'm holding onto dear life, because they remind me what it's like to be normal. Janis, from the office, laughed at me the other day. She let down her long dark hair from the suffocating bun, and leaned down to unlace her high heels. I saw the angry red marks that the shoes had left on her ankles, and wondered why anyone would inflict such pain upon themselves. "All the time, those lumpy sweaters!" She rolled her eyes at me and giggled from bellow. "You have a nice figure, honest. Just wear something… not hideous for a change. Come on, don't you want to be pretty?"

I opened my mouth and closed it, because I can't even explain to her. I'm past thinking of being pretty. That's for other people, ones who have normal lives with normal families and normal husbands. My life is a struggle. I do all the wonders of a single Mom, without the benefits of being able to date and find someone to lean on. My day's always full, from dropping Eli off in dancing class, to working so hard I can't remember how to open my eyelids after every blink, to cooking and cleaning and helping Eli with her homework, dropping her off at school and giving her warm hugs and attention. So single Mom part, check. And you're not here, but I love you so much I can't even dream of being with anyone else. It's not even an option.

And so it just seems like my stupid fate to continue on like this.

I resist and thrash and do whatever I can on my own, but it's not the same without you. It's like I'm fighting against the current of a gushing river, and the sound drowns out all the other noises from my ears, and the water block every word from my mouth, and the cold makes it so that I can't feel anything anymore. I can't fight the river on my own. I'm suffocating. I'm drowning. I miss you.

I'm trying to believe. Trust me, I am.

Every day, every waking moment, every breath that I take, I think about believing. Believing in you. Believing that you knew what you were putting yourself into. Believing that you're doing okay, that you laugh on a daily basis, that you miss me. Believing that you think about the way I smell before you go to sleep, about my arms wrapped tightly around you, about Eli's adorable lisp when she shrieks your name.

I try to believe in God, and to have faith in him watching over you. It's not easy, and I don't always get it right, but I try.
Please stay safe, because I love you with a force so mighty, by all rights, it should move boulders. Because you have Eli, who looks up to you to such an extent that it's endearing. Because we're waiting for you to come back.

And please, Honey, please just try to believe in us too.

This is very good, I'm impressed. It's very to the point, and yet gives a lot of detail as to what's going on in her life. You're a very good writer, though I saw a typo in the part where she's saying she's in a river, and it's blocking out all the noise. You typed block instead of blocks. Other than that, it's perfect.

I really like your story, it's sweet and cute, with touches of sadness. And mistakes, I don't think I saw any other then a few coma mistakes here and there, but then again I'm not that great with that kind of stuff, so I could be wrong. (meaning don't take it to heart and you can laugh at me if I’m wrong XD) But seriously, it's a really good piece, and really moving. =) Nice job!