Letters To My Mate

Chapter Five

I realised how short this chapter actually is, but I really wanted to update this story for you all... It's mainly just Ethan's letter and I hope the next chapter is a lot better:') Thank you for reading! x

FIVE

Sitting on my small mattress, I looked down at the flat, smooth, neat piece of paper that was resting on my lap and then back to the multiple messy, crumpled pieces of paper distributed in front of me. I had been reading Ethan's letter over and over again ever since I had come home from school four hours ago and a small smile appeared on my face every time. He sounded perfect. His neat handwriting caressed the paper and I couldn't help but compare it to my own. His was perfection; whereas mine was rushed, and just a scribble of words that were thrown onto a page. He probably thought that I was a slob. He probably thought that I had written that letter about ten minutes before it had to be handed in. But, that's far from the truth. I had waited days on end to hand that letter in after I had written it on the day that we had received the assignment. But he wouldn't know that - I think.

I read his letter out loud once more as I tried to think of what I could write in my reply.

'Dear Rachel Walker,

My name is Ethan Miles - but it's obvious that you already knew that. I have recently turned 19 years old and I'm one of the youngest at my base; I'm turning 20 on the 1st December next year. I'm intrigued to find out a lot more about you than you've told me. I can tell that you're hiding something big from everyone within your life. Why have you had to grow up so fast?

I never have one set routine anymore because you never know what will happen and when, but we are always woken up extremely early in the morning to be prepared... just in case. I'm similar to you in the fact that I don't have a favourite colour. I'm not sure why everyone needs one, it's not important to everyone's life. I have blue eyes, what colour eyes do you have? I'll also have to agree with you on pasta although I do have an unhealthy obsession with pot noodles.

Just so you know, crossing out what you have written doesn't mean that I cannot read it - because I can :) Anyway, your name fascinated me too. I wasn't that excited to receive a pen pal at first but I now know that you're going to change my mind about that. Nothing about you is dull. The way you write alone shows me that you would be a perfect journalist. You always see through everything and ask 'why?' rather than seeing things as they are. I took a course in psychology before I decided to come to Afghanistan, by the way. So, don't be weirded out. If that's even a word; I bet you can tell me if it is or not. I didn't have a favourite subject... I wasn't the best at school. I was always the 'bad-boy' and the trouble maker. I couldn't find the point in the education that we had when I knew that we would never need any of it again. But I do see your point that you shouldn't take anything, especially education, for granted. I have seen first-hand many people that have fought for the right of education with their entire heart and soul and it saddens me deeply.

Your mother sounds like an incredible human being; I wish I could know her. I can see that you love her a lot and I believe what she has said. The way you write these little things provides me with the image of a graceful young girl sitting at a piano and playing with fluency. You seem to have previously had such a passion for music - why did you stop? It's scary to say that yet again, we have something in common. We are rarely allowed to listen to the radio out here and we aren't in the range for popular British radio stations anyway. Feather Hearts have always been one of my favourite bands - maybe if I come back, we could go see them together? It's on me, of course.

Explaining the experience of war to someone who has never gone through something similar is difficult; it's like they don't quite understand what you're going on about. Sadly, I don't have a really inspirational story for you to hear - I was simply curious about the war. My father, my grandfather, my grandfather's father and almost every father in my family has been in the army. They had all been ones to have survived although a lot of them gained serious injuries. My grandfather, for example, is paralysed from waist down. He's fine though, he enjoys and jokes about how my grandmother has to wheel him around in his wheelchair and slave after him every day. They made me realise that the war isn't always filled with death and agony - it's simply fighting for one's country. Afghanistan brings me freedom and independence in a strange way. I wouldn't want a girl so special like you going into a battlefield. I'm not trying to sound sexist, but you seem so innocent and caring - I can't imagine it at all. War isn't as horrific as it seems, no. A lot of the time when you're suddenly under an unexpected attack it can be frightening; especially when you're afraid that that moment may be one of your last. You can feel so isolated at times. There was a video leaked out of a man in one of the bases nearby. He was alone and was shot, causing to drop his gun. He was in serious pain but he carried on fighting - Fighting for his country. This man's okay now and all of us have the support, love and friendship that we need to recover from such experiences. I don't want to scare you too much and go into a lot of detail about certain things in the battlefield, but just know that we were all chosen to come here for a reason. It is our duty and we are all so honoured that we could serve for everyone in this way.

I'm sorry if this letter is too long, you may get bored from when I was babbling on and straying from our topic. I'd love to hear more about you and your life. I will try to stay as safe as I can. Just for you, Rach <3

Love, Ethan Miles xx'

He wrote every letter, every word and ever sentence with such precision and I admired him for that. It looked like he had spent a long time trying to make it neat and perfect for me. That's probably not the truth though - he probably just had very neat handwriting and knew what he wanted to say. Everything about Ethan made butterflies fly freely within my stomach. Perfect wasn't even the right word to describe him - he was beyond perfect. The only clue I had of what he looked like was his eyes were blue. The prince charming I would always dream of would have blue eyes too.

There was something so different about Ethan. He had somehow managed to see right through my act and I had only written one letter so far. One. He was the type of guy that every girl would want because he seemed so kind and for some reason, it came across as if he cared for me. I quickly shook that thought out of my head. I need to stop doing this! I have already become so fascinated by simply how he writes and the content of what he writes. I had no idea who he was and if any of what he had written was true but it all seemed real. It was written with true emotion and I knew that if this carried on I may open up to him; with everything.

I placed his letter in front of my lap along with my failed attempts, smoothing it under my hand as I did so to ensure that the hard work to keep it neat was not wasted. I picked up a pen that I had found on the floor outside of my school entrance that had most likely fell out of someone's pencil case or jacket pocket. Finders' keepers though, right? I couldn't help but feel guilty even though it was just one pen. My father would have told me how rude it was and that I was being selfish by taking it and I couldn't help but agree. But, all of the pupils at my school were posh, rich snobs and I knew that whoever had dropped this pen wouldn't even realise that it had gone.

I leant on my school journal for support under the crinkled paper - I didn't want it to rip and tear under the pressure of this pen.

'Dear Ethan Miles,

Now that we have introduced each other, I have no idea how to start/open this letter. Do I tell you thanks? I haven't written a letter to anyone since I was ten and that was to my teacher as a class project. I'd like to apologise for my pen - I could not find one that worked correctly but I guess this will have to do, right? :)

Happy birthday for 3 weeks ago! It must seem like a long time ago though, right? Anyway, I...'

That was as far as I could write because that was the moment that God decided I was too happy; that I deserved a punishment. My father had come back home.

I heard the slam of the front door and then the heavy footsteps of his steel-toe work boots and the echo of his keys being thrown onto the table next to the first step. I sat up straight and as fast as I could, I gathered all the paper that was in front of me into the neatest pile I could manage. I went to throw them back onto my desk, hidden under an old book but I was too late. My door was not locked and my father had barged straight in. There was a murderous glint in his eye and I knew that whatever had happened at work or with someone had been worse than bad. He would take all of his anger out on me with no remorse. Today was different though. I had no idea if it was because I had just healed enough to be able to move around with no pain; or because I had gotten used to the fact that my father was not here for a while. Either way, it would not matter why. All that mattered was how far he would go this time. I feared for my life at that moment as he charged towards me with his entire force.