Dear Edward, Heather Parsons [best way to read ebooks txt] 📗

a deep breath of insufferable air, she spun herself around and headed back to her room.
Night had fallen by the time she finally closed her eyes and slept. Dreaming of her mother's gentle face and her words she'd wrote, mixed in with the words wrote by the soldier she'd poured her heart and soul too. Standing in an open field she watched her mother and this soldier exchange words, smile and hug one another. Collapsing on the grass, she held herself together and spoke, “mom, I'm sorry.” Whispering words of forgiveness to the fading image, broke her heart and shattered her soul. Would she ever forgive Brianna for what she did? Would you ever forgive yourself?
A month before her mother died, they'd had a fight. Brianna received a letter from her that didn't say what she wanted it to say and therefore didn't respond. But now she'd wished she'd had. Maybe if she'd written back, she thought, her mother would still be alive, still be breathing and on her way home. Putting the blame where it was meant and not throwing it around, for anyone to take. Brianna felt responsible for what happened and no one could change her mind about it.
Mr. Thomas had tried to convince her that it wasn't her fault and maybe just maybe, his assignment had something to do with it. Would writing another soldier help her? She highly doubted it. Would it truly help her get over what happened? Or would it be a mistake and crush her already crushed soul?

THREE

Crouching in a fox hole, watching the mussel flashes light up the darkened night wasn't something anyone could or wanted to get used too, but it was reality. Hand signals came from CPT Dumas, flanking left and right, guarding each others back and staying out of range took a lot out of his platoon. SPC Carter, stood close in between the flanks, a man on each side protecting their only means of getting out, alive. With only one medic in the platoon, if he was shot they knew their chances of survival were slim.
Low crawling their way to the bunkers that lay out in front of them, their bellies in the mud, arms stretched out in front and fingers on the trigger, Tango Company prepared to invade. The first two soldiers in the line proceeded forward, out the corner of his eye, SPC Carter, watched in horror as his fellow friends, his family, took steps forward. Within feet of the allocated destination, all hell broke lose.
Bouncing Betty's exploded, reducing men to nothing more than pieces, once again a reality. This was the war they'd been fighting for over a year now, seeing more and hearing things they'd never seen or heard before. Setting their sites on the mission in front of them, SPC Carter moved forward, into the hot zone to preform his duties.
However the first soldier he ran to was torn apart, leaving nothing for him to fix or attempt to. On his hands and knees, SPC Carter, knelt down, grabbing hold of PVT Page's dog tags and pulled. Reaching into his left side pocket, Carter pulled out the letter he'd written, tucking it along with one of the dog tags into his own pocket and put the other dog tag in the soldier's mouth. With one swift kick, he lodged the tag deep in the soldiers throat, keeping the information that it contained safe.
Disgust with losing another, Carter stood up, shook his head and closed his eyes. His heart that once beat so strongly, for what they were doing, only showed a sliver of hope. Would he make it back home? Would he make it through the night?
PFC Barnes took shrapnel in his upper crest cavity, bleeding out faster than Carter could plug it up. Pulling out the needle of morphine, Carter injected into his arm, dulling his pain, hoping that what little he could do to help his friend would suffice.
After four injections of morphine, PFC Barnes, died, anyway. Pain, conflict and determination spread through Carter's face and limbs. Losing two more soldiers, took it's toll, snapping him out of the hard shell he'd had for survival. Standing up, he grabbed the fallen soldier's weapon and fired it into the tree line ahead, shooting aimlessly at anything that moved. Losing control of an already uncontrollable situation.

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Christopher woke hearing Ella's sweet voice and called out to her. Wanting to pull her close and never again let go. He held his whiskey bottle out in front of him, offering to give it up for one more chance to be with her. But when his eyes adjusted, seeing only darkness surrounding him, he lost it. Thinking she'd left him again and his heart, sank.
He was alone again in his living room, nothing but darkness around, surrounding his heart, breaking it again. “Ella!” he called out, he thought, she'd been hiding from him. “Please baby, I can't live without you.” He sobbed on the floor. Seeing her form in the hallway brought him hope, love and joy entered his darkened heart and for once he let his emotion sit on his sleeve for her to see.
Bolting upright, Brianna's eyes searched through the darkness for the screams she'd heard so clearly. They were so loud and close, she'd brought her hand up, covering her mouth, covering up the screams that often escaped during the night. But it wasn't her screams she was hearing now, they came from somewhere else in the house.
Throwing the covers aside, she jumped out of bed and raced to where they'd originated from. Seeing her dad sprawled out on the floor, whiskey bottle in one hand, the other reached out into the darkness and calling mom's name, Brianna cried.
Panic flashed before her, everything she's seen, all the pain he's hidden inside now was laying out in front of her, screamed suicide. Would he do it? Leave her alone? Forever the forgotten one? The one left behind?
“Dad,” she called out, stepping out from the darkness.
Seeing his daughter's eyes glistening with tears, he thought maybe she'd seen her too. “Ella!” he screamed again.
“Dad,” she stepped closer, shaking slightly, trying to calm her dad with tears streaming down her cheeks, uncontrollably.
“Brianna, do you see her? Your mother, where did she go?” Christopher asked, searching again for any sign of his wife.
“Dad, she's not here anymore,” she whispered in an unsteady voice. Closing her eyes she prayed for the strength to calm herself and therefore be able to calm her dad.
“But she was....” he trailed off, jumping to his feet and throwing his arms about. So sure of himself that Ella was in the room, ranting and raving that she was indeed back. And without a second thought, he lifted his hand, the one that held the bottle and swung. Darkness covered his sight but he knew she was there, deep down inside he knew Ella would never leave him alone.
When the bottle came in contact with something hard, he gasped. Smiling to himself, he thought he'd caught her, to prove that she indeed was here, to prove to his daughter she hadn't left. But deep down inside his clouded mind, words of rationality hit, he'd acted a fool in front of his daughter. The one thing he never wanted her to witness was him losing control but control seemed so far out of reach right now.
Eminent pain, the taste of blood and the shock that her own flesh and blood had hit her, broke her sanity. Heart shattering, soul crushing, pin pointed her pain. She cried silently, trying to mask what he did and watched him, closely.
He stood a foot away, both arms dangling at his sides, shoulder's slump, he fell to his knees and cried. It all happened in slow motion but all in all, he was broken. Brianna moved in closer still aware that he might snap again and reached out to him, soothing his pain. Nothing else mattered than helping her dad. His pain was literally her's, his shattered heart was a mirror image of her's. The only difference between them that she knew of was she was responsible for what happened, not him.
Staring down at his hands that laid in front of him, he alone prayed for the first time, for strength to live, to lite his way. Closing his eyes, silently whispering to the one that he'd cursed out before and asked for forgiveness.

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Sanctuary lay ahead with cots, tents and food. Tango Company, third platoon reached base camp at dusk, carrying in the wounded, the soldiers that made up the platoon were few. Many lost their lives within the weeks they've been out. Twenty-four soldiers were reduced to a half a dozen.
SPC Carter sat on the cot, assigned to him, head in hands and for the first time since being in, he cried. The dread of being in this war, took a toll on his heart. His family dieing around him, with no way of helping them or making the promise they'd made long ago, of everyone surviving, killed the most.
SGT Woods walked into the tent, hand carrying a bag full of mail and called out the soldiers name to whom they belonged to. Carter knew he'd not had any so laying down and ignoring his calls, he closed his eyes and tried thinking of something to fill in what he'd seen. But images of fallen soldiers filled his thoughts, flashes of body parts filled in behind his eyelids and all too soon he found himself sitting back up, eyes open and staring out.
“Carter, mail!” SGT Woods called, handing him a stack of letters.
Joy, happiness exploded inside him. Someone had written back, he couldn't believe it. Staring down at the stack, his fingers brushed over the lettering of each and every one, his heart beat faster while he thumbed the first of many letters.
After reading all the letters, of many students, of places and things they have done and seen, he felt for the first time since joining that his purpose for being here, meant something. Grabbing his pen and paper, he too wrote back, thinking he could find a friend among the many to continue writing to and have a purpose in life, a purpose for returning home.

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Mr. Thomas sat back against his desk, looking through the letters that sat in front of him. Trying to find the one that