Frank looked out the window of his apartment and he watched the sun creep its way into the sky. He stared on listlessly until the sun was right in front of him. Sighing, he stares back down at his table where a piece of lined paper lay. Resting his arm on the table, he picks up a pencil on the desk and begins to write.
I leave in a coupla hours. All of my stuff is packed, and I'm pretty much ready to go. I'm wasted from last night - maybe those vodkas weren't a good idea.Oh well, screw it, right? That was my last day. So what if I'm hung over! A couple of beers with my closest friends ain't gonna hurt anyone.
Man, the place is gonna be sick. Women, beers, shooting - good combo? I've lived through my first deployment, I'm probably gonna live through this one, too. I've chosen the place I wanna go to in my free time - Thailand. It would be the perfect place to visit if I live.
Frank stopped writing and stared at the last sentence he had written. He chuckles, clearly forcing himself, and suddenly, his laughter stops. The smug grin he kept on his face drops, and suddenly, an expression of pure fear hit him. Shaking, he continues to write.
I've been told that these worries I have about being deployed back into war would go away if I were to write a letter to myself. A letter that no one else will see. A letter that I can write down all of my feelings about the war in. And here it is - that very letter. All I have left to say is this:
I don't want to die.
Signing his letter, Frank sealed it in an envelope addressed to himself with the date written in the top right corner. Grabbing a lighter off his nightstand, he takes that and the envelope to the balcony outside and engulfs the envelope in flames.
