Dearest Wife

January 13, 2012 at 3:59 pm · Filed under Mostly fiction, Stories ·Tagged author, Charles L. Mashburn, dearest wife, http://networkedblogs.com/sFkN4, story

This is part seven of the continuing saga, The Last Grain of Sand, which I began via a prompt at Bluebell Books’ Short Story Slam several weeks ago. The six previous parts are available by clicking on the links at the bottom of this post. This new segment is being posted to Kellie Elmore’s Free Write Friday, and it’s titled Dearest Wife. It was actually published as a poem on another Free Write Friday in August of last year. I’ve been thinking it would fit into this story, and today Kellie gave me the prompt that convinced me I was correct. I hope you enjoy it!

Part seven:

Dearest Wife

I scribbled fiercely on the piece of paper. I’d stolen the paper and pen when the commander had left me alone at his desk. I had no idea how—or if—the note would find its way to Anna, but I could only hope and pray somehow it would. If she was still at our home, and not imprisoned herself, she was probably frantic with worry.

I wasn’t sure, but I thought I’d been gone for three days. I was fairly certain I was on an island right off the coast of California, or possibly Mexico, because I’d seen water in every direction the day they’d marched me to the commanders office. I was also pretty sure we’d never left the highway on the trip here, and I was positive we’d not boarded a ferry. I’d tried to think how far we might have traveled, and what islands had bridges to them, but it was impossible. I’d been out cold for the first part of the ride, and as for islands, I wasn’t familiar with the California coastline; I had no idea if there were islands with bridges to them.

I smiled as I wrote, thinking maybe I could put the letter in a bottle. If I could find a bottle.

Dearest wife,

I thought I could fight them, and you know I tried, but I had no idea how deep the roots of their treason had run. They came in the night, and were on me before I had time to react. I saw nothing and heard only faint whispers as they carried me away. My cries were muffled by the rag stuffed in my mouth and the dark hood over my head. They wrapped me in the blanket from the hotel bed, and I was barely able to breath. At some point I passed out.

I regained consciousness as I rode in the cold, rumbling vehicle to wherever this island is they’ve brought me to, and as I jostled painfully on the hard steel floor, I imagined you at our home, sleeping soundly and safely in our comfortable bed; at least I pray you are still there and safe. Or have they taken you, too; to another place? Or, is it possible you are here or someplace nearby?

I doubt I will return. I smell death here.

If this note finds its way to you, please, know I love you. Deny me, if you have to, and maybe they will leave you alone. If you can convince them you knew nothing of what I was up to, perhaps they will at least let you live.

Someone’s coming. I’ve got to go.

I love you,

John

P.S. – I’m not afraid

I folded the letter and shoved it under the filthy mattress, just before the door swung open. Screaming in rage, I charged toward the soldier. Reflexively, he swung the butt of his rifle at my head. The last thing I saw before it struck me and my world spun into darkness was the look on the young marine’s face; it was one of utter despair.

This gave me hope.

Copyright © 2012 C. Mashburn

Previous parts of this story:

Part one: The Last Grain of Sand

Part two: Hope

Part three: Like a Fairy Tale

Part four: Then There Were Three

Part five: Cinnamon

Part six: L. Aliens in the Morning

Part eight: Dearest John

Part nine: L. Angel

Part ten: The Books

Part eleven: Play Money

 

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