stanhope didn't look up as raleigh entered the dug-out. he was staring at the table, mind elsewhere.
out of the corner of his eye, he saw the younger boy stop and shift awkwardly, before gingerly sitting down on a stool next to him.
"i'm sorry." raleigh said hoarsely.
stanhope didn't answer. his gaze flickered to the boy's pale, harrowed figure and his heart almost stopped short.
this wasn't the grinning boy that arrived here not even three days ago.
he was so, so different.
raleigh reached for osborne's ring.
"don't touch that." stanhope snapped, something inside of him shattering.
"right. sorry."
there was an edge to his voice, and stanhope remembered –yesterday, was it?– when osborne had read his letter.
i'm awfully proud to think he's my friend, raleigh had written.
what did he think of him now? of this paranoid, drunken man was going to wed his sister? the man who screamed at him to give up a letter that wasn't even talking about his reek of whiskey?
a long, awkward silence filled the room, bitter and suffocating.
raleigh eventually broke it by saying quietly, "he's in a better place, now."
was he?
surely that better place should've been with his family, after the war?
not heaven.
"even if that's true, i wish he was here." stanhope murmured thickly, tears stinging his eyes again.
he scrubbed then away before raleigh could see.
"he was... a fine fellow."
that something that had shattered shattered again, into millions of tiny fragments, prickling and stabbing stanhope's heart.
"you didn't know him." he said lowly.
he watched as raleigh's forlorn face twisted into fear.
it felt good to have that much power over someone.
"you didn't know him!" stanhope repeated, voice louder as the fire in his chest got wilder; hotter.
"i– i know, dennis, i just–"
"stop calling me that! we're not in school anymore. this isn't some– some rugby game–" both men winced at that– "where we can shake hands and make up afterwards. this is war, raleigh. a war where good men like osborne die," he didn't even think before blurting out, "instead of you."
if possible, raleigh's face paled more. "you– don't you mean that..." he chuckled nervously, visibly stiffening.
"you know i do."
"so– you're– you're saying this is my fault?"
"yes!" stanhope slammed his fists on the table, a small smirk curling onto his lips as raleigh flinched.
"i'm not the one who volunteered him." raleigh said meekly, breathing heavily.
and he calls himself a soldier.
"you think i wanted him to go up top?" stanhope scoffed. "i said i'd go but the colonel wouldn't listen to me–"
"so... it's your fault he's dead?" raleigh said slowly, inching away from the man opposite him.
stanhope flushed, chest tightening.
he could've tried harder.
"no! i–" his voice cracked, words failing him.
the two met eyes and raleigh tried smiling nervously, only for stanhope to scowl back.
"he should've had more time." stanhope said quietly.
"i'm sorry," raleigh repeated, "i should've– i should have looked out for him."
he stared at the ring; the pocket watch; the letter. the packet of cigarettes osborne had given him felt heavy in his pocket.
stanhope was shaking. muttering to himself. raleigh was convinced the man was crazy.
the war does things to people, osborne had told him, his first night in the trench.
horrible things.
"should i– should i take these?" raleigh asked coarsely, his fingertips grazing the letter's envelope.
"no." stanhope glanced up at the small, ashen boy in front of him. "you can leave."
and raleigh did.
that's what they were.
just boys.
that's what the whole war was about.
just a playground squabble.
and that had cost his best friend his life.
he took the dull wedding ring and rubbed it between his fingers.
osborne was gone.
and it was his fault.
•
lmao can you tell i'm hella angsty that osborne died my sweet uncle he deserved better
i'm so not ready for raleigh's death jfc
izzy i lOVE you
lynn you're a sweetheart ily!!
journey's end is my shit ok
YOU ARE READING
where's my mind / poetry, oneshots etc.
Poetrywriting like i'm running out of time; like i need it to survive.
