Fiction
The Last Letters
April 5, 1945 Dear Mother,
By Ayumi Hino Gerads11 months ago in History
Love Letters from WWII. Honorable Mention in Love Letters Through Time Challenge.
June 4th, 1944 Dearest Margorie, They say we will be headed to shore soon. I can't tell you how happy I will be to have my feet touch land. The anxiety and anticipation of what is to come has us all in knots. We don't know what to expect - and I don't think even the captains know. No one is saying much, just cloaked in various shades of pale or gray - waiting. It almost feels similar to how it felt waiting for those church doors to open and for you to come down the aisle. I kept whispering to Jerry, "I don't think she's going to come". He kept reassuring me you'd be there, but I was shaking and sweating bullets. I don't think I ever told you that, or how relieved and happy I was when those doors did open. You looked just like an angel in that white dress and your hair all done up. I keep holding on to that moment as we sit here now, waiting. Jerry keeps reassuring me that it will all be all right, but I can feel myself shaking, and the wavering of his voice tells me he is too. I can only pray that when it's time for the doors to open here they either lead me back to you, or swiftly into the arms of an angel that I will be directing to watch over you. Pray for us darling.
By Ellie Hoovs11 months ago in History
A Letter from the Front Lines
June 14, 1944 My Dearest Caitlin, As I sit in the soft glow of a flickering oil lamp on my birthday, with the sounds of the night echoing through our camp, I find myself yearning for you more than ever. I don’t have a birthday cake to celebrate this special day or bright candles to mark the occasion, but my thoughts of you more than compensate for this loss. Your beautiful image is firmly etched in my mind and gives me the strength to endure this challenging ordeal. The air is thick with damp earth and gun oil, a constant reminder of my surroundings and why I’m here. Yet, in those quiet moments when my duties temporarily fade, you completely fill my thoughts—your laughter, your kindness, and how your hand fits perfectly in mine. These memories sustain me; those intimate moments we shared before I left empower me to withstand the hardships of war that I face daily!
By Anthony Chan11 months ago in History
A Woman Not Of Her Time
15 May 1820 Sarah Hoecroft 12 Candle Crescent Moreton, Surrogate, 23876 Dear Sarah, Hello my love, how are you? It breaks my heart to know that we are not yet joined in holy matrimony, and all because of the circumstances that were never foreseen. It’s 1820, and I fear my love, that if we do not marry soon, you’ll be boxed into the ‘Old Maid’ category by our friends and family.
By Colleen Millsteed 11 months ago in History
The World isn't Ending. Honorable Mention in Love Letters Through Time Challenge.
1/1/1944 Dear Alain, Another year has passed. I can barely remember the time when I used to look forward to the new year with great excitement. Now, the year beyond me only fills me with dread. And the weather was cold today. Dark and cold. And the weather was even more unbearable because you were not here.
By Rebecca Patton11 months ago in History
A Mother's Love
Some time ago, I became comfortable in the luscious green valleys of a small town in India, where I was joined by just the appropriate number of young people named Anjali. The community seemed authentic, with few dirt roads, modest dirt homes, and a friendly neighborhood where everyone knew each other. In the midst of this crucial life, Anjali had a dream as big as the sky above her: to become a subject matter expert and save individuals who were up the creek without a paddle. Anjali's father died while she was young, leaving her mother, Meera, to carry the responsibility of raising her. Meera was a sewer, famed for her meticulous stitching and the erratic models she incorporated into each piece of fabric.
By Kodjo simon 11 months ago in History
A Medal for Mettle
My dearest Melna, I have achieved the award I never wanted. The United States of America has conferred upon me the Medal of Honor. For a Colored man, this is beyond the reach for most. By fighting a war which will help the Negro see greater possibilities, I think we shall advance forward. At the time of my actions, I was a master sergeant but soon became a second lieutenant. Oh, my love, I wish you could have been there when they proclaimed that I had earned this highest award in the American tradition of war.
By Skyler Saunders11 months ago in History
Rain-soaked Letters. First Place in Love Letters Through Time Challenge.
Heya Ruthie, I think I got some no good news for you. But it’s still news. At last, I know. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Couple months. Plus two weeks. Hope you don’t hate me for it. I know I said I'd write when I got down to the Smoky Mountains, but things have just been... Well, a little rough. See, money doesn't flow down here the way I thought it would and I just wanted to wait until I had something to send back to you and your Ma.
By Silver Daux11 months ago in History
Letters to the Cute from the Fool
My Dearest Rias, As I sit here attempting to capture my thoughts on paper, I am struck with a sense of wonder, both for you and the challenge of conveying my feelings through mere words. I write not only to express what my heart so desperately longs to say but also, in the hope that one day, my awkwardness and charm might make you smile, just as you do for me. Please, forgive the rambling that follows; it is merely the result of an attempt to share something so pure, though I know I am not always the best at saying it.
By Student's dream11 months ago in History
My Heart’s Eternal Flame
July 14, 1863 Gettysburg, Pennsylvania My Dearest Eleanor, As I sit beneath the tattered canvas of my tent, the dim glow of a flickering lantern casting shadows upon this weathered parchment, I find solace in the thought of you. The scent of gunpowder lingers in the air, and the distant cries of men echo through the night, yet amidst this chaos, it is your face—soft and serene—that remains my only comfort.
By OWOYELE JEREMIAH11 months ago in History
The Legendary Lost Treasure of El Dorado
The Allegorical Abundance of El Dorado: The Absent Burghal of Gold El Dorado, the allegorical burghal of gold, has captivated campaign and abundance hunters for centuries. A attribute of immense abundance and mystery, El Dorado was believed to be a hidden commonwealth abounding with doubtful riches. The adventure of this absent abundance has its roots in the aboriginal conquests of the Spanish in South America. Despite centuries of searches, the accuracy abaft El Dorado charcoal elusive. Was it anytime real, or is it artlessly a allegory fueled by acquisitiveness and imagination?
By Say the truth 11 months ago in History
