I could feel the pounding of my heart ringing in my ears. I felt the blood pumping through my whole being like shock waves reverberating within my bones, cutting through to the surface of my skin. The steam from my body was quickly frozen as it hit the frigid air. My sweat was ice by the time it fell from my brow. I was silent in the pitch of the night. The moon showed the face of the Cheshire cat, gleaming down on me with its horrific, clever smile. I quickly adjusted the strap on my helmet, for the hundredth time. I bit down and clenched my teeth hard bracing myself. My boots dug into the muddy, damp earth, making me feel like I was sinking into a pit of anguish. Nothing was heard but the whispering of the trees, singing the sad lullaby of war. I was not alone; in the dead of silence, I was one of the one hundred and four men all hidden along the brush, waiting. I too was like a cat, keen, and agile. My night vision goggles made it possible to see through the piercing blackened sky. As I took a deep breath, I heard a sound. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. My right ear shot up, at the sound of familiarity. It was the whistle. The signal. My signal. I looked to the right to see my fellow soldier, and nodded. The enemy was approaching. In a calm panic, I raised my rifle. I held my hands steady as I peered through the scope, looking and searching. Then I spotted him. The Redcoat slowly slithering through the brush, ducking here and there from trees overhead. He was keeping a sharp eye, and I knew I had to stand my ground. The whistle sounded a second time and I aimed. My finger was tight on the trigger. I bit my lip, and whispered a prayer. One, Two, Three. “Click.” I let out a shriek as I heard the sound of my empty gun. I looked around in terror. “Click.” I heard my partner’s gun go. “Click. Click. Click.” The horror arose in me. My blood became as thin as paper when I heard the sound of my men’s empty guns echoing throughout the forest. How could we possibly have no ammo? Before we could act, the petrifying thought came into every man’s mind. It was the Redcoats. They played us like their pawns. We fell into their trap. My heart dropped to the pit of my being as I looked up. I saw the same redcoat in the distance. He looked right at me with his hideous, Cheshire smile. He threw a small hand grenade, strategically landing on a line of gunpowder. We realized they encircled us in. It was ignited immediately. Before I could yell, “run!” I found myself being thrown into the air, cutting through the cold, into the shadowy, night sky, then silence.

I awoke from the sound of gradual moans. They started small, and then grew louder and louder, until they were rattling my brain. Severe pain shot from my right eye into my cheek. The taste of blood was prominent in my mouth. There was a constant loud ringing in my ear. I couldn’t feel anything from my waist down. At this I was terrified, and dared to open my eyes. It was painful just moving my eyelids. Slowly, I let them peel back; only to find I only had vision out of one of them. The darkness made me panic. I let out a loud grunt, as I failed with lifeless flailing arms reaching for my face. I was breathing hard. My head was spinning; I was lightheaded. I couldn’t get my thoughts in order, let alone my speech. I continued thrashing my upper body.

“Easy soldier,” I heard an angelic voice whisper, “It’s just a bandage over your eye. Easy now.” I felt a gentle touch on my face. I stopped struggling, as the hand picked mine up, placing it on my face so I could feel the bandage and I realized I was not blind. I removed my hand, and saw the scarlet color stained on them. My eyes widened, before I blacked out.


This time when I awoke, I jerked as my eyes quickly flashed open. I noticed my hands were clean and my bandages were changed. I heard the voice again.

“Please, I am here to help. Don’t be startled,” I felt the same gentle touch on my hand. “ You are safe now. Safe.”

“Safe.” I repeated the word. It seemed like a foreign word to me. I looked up to see the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. I believed I was in heaven for a moment as I looked at her angelic face.

“Safe.” She repeated with a smile. Her chocolate eyes looked into mine, as her bronzed hair swayed slightly across her freckled olive skin. “ You are here now, at the Red Cross Camp for the Impaired Soldiers.” Taken back by the word “impaired” I looked around suddenly to see the rows of cots with moaning and dying men on them. I snapped into reality, and realized the horror before my eyes. The room I was in was a one-room building, with death written on every wall. The window pains were fogged from the frigid air, as Jack Frosts’ fingers painted on the panes to welcome the very tragedy in winter. The wood walls were worn, with cloudy gray paint peeling off. There were nurses not walking but tearing from bed to bed, with anguished, disturbed looks on their face. I saw some cots with dirty sheets covering the mangled, dead bodies underneath. I held my composer, trying not to pass out once again. It was extremely difficult. The smell was so rancid; I curled over the side of my bed, and vomited. At this, my nurse quickly moved to clean it up. In a grief-stricken state, I stared hard, unable to let any tears out. I was so empty, and so distraught. Then the thought came to my head; my men! What became of them! Minutes passed as my thoughts raced. I couldn’t contain my self at this sight and the racing thoughts. I was frustrated I couldn’t move, as I just lay there, so helpless, watching men suffer, and die right in front of me. It was unreal. My throat went dry as a cot came speeding past me, as a man with his arm blown off, howled in excruciating pain. I sank down into my bed in sorrow and covered my ears with my small, sack pillow, to block the sound; to block the sight, to block the smell, to block out the very company of death itself. In that moment, it was real and I wept like I had never wept before.

I was interrupted, “I am your nurse,” I heard the soft voice, “You are one of the five men who survived the bombing two days ago. But you are here now, and I am here to help you.” She continued. I was silent but my mind screamed. What bombing? Two days ago? “Don’t worry, soldier, you are the one with the least amount of injuries, you will recover,” she whispered sweetly, “and I will help you, but for now, get some sleep, and then we can talk.” She rubbed my back soothingly, and walked away.


As I awoke, I saw her returning with a small bowl of porridge and a glass of warm milk. I refused first, but she was persistent, because I had slipped into a comma last night. The first bite was very hard to get down, I felt my stomach struggling to keep it down as the hot gruel slid downward, but after the fist bite was down, I devoured the rest.

“Lets start with the basics,” she smiled, “to see how well you remember. What is your name, and where are you from?”
“My name is Elijah Jamison Clarington, and I am from,” I paused, “ a place in uptown New York. Um, Buffalo, that’s it.”
“Good,” she placed my bowl on the table next to me, “now-,”
“Your turn,” I interrupted, “what is your name, and where are you from?” She let out a small chuckle.
“My name is Eloise Evangeline Middleton. I am from a small home in Albany, New York.”
“Okay, continue,” I said. She continued on about the details of the bombing I had been in and how fortunate I was to still be alive. I struggled holding back my grief when I made her read me every name of every man who died. She encouraged me and made aware, that it wasn’t my fault, and there was no way we could have known. My mind still told me, it was in fact my fault. This thought gnawed at me for days, and months on end. It kept me up, during long nights as I shivered in my bed of ice. I would have nightmares constantly, of the Cheshire smile of the Red Coat who threw the bomb, to incinerate us all.

During my two months of recovery, I slowly began to find myself falling more and more in love with Eloise. She would take me outside, when I was first trying to walk again. She was so patient as I would pass out numerous times, from the stress and pain of walking. I would always wake up with her right beside me, letting me rest, as she kept watch over me. She would tell me the stories of her childhood, and her small family back in Albany. She missed them so dearly. It had been two years since she had been home, and at the end of the year she was allowed to return home. Her service in the war was over. At this I realized I still had one more year of mandatory service, and it would be quite some time before I would be able to see Eloise again. We often talked about this matter, and she always reassured me she would wait for me and her heart belonged to no one but me. Two months seemed so sudden, but we both knew we were, destined for each other. By the end of my recovery I knew more about Eloise then I did about myself. I was so attached and not at all ready to let her go by the end of my two months. It was her time to be free and go home, and my time to go back to fighting for her freedom.

Eloise service was finally up. She was able to take the fist ship home, when I was starting my fist day back in the army camps. On the docks, I embraced, Eloise for our last goodbye. I couldn’t see through my flooded eyes. My heart was so heavy; it was hard for the rest of my body to function. I knew today was the day I would be letting her go for a hard year ahead, and I would be back on the dreadful, life-shattering battle fields in just days. She slipped something into my hand. I opened the piece of paper. It was a beautiful picture of trees in the fall along a blue river. On the bottom was written ALBANY, NEW YORK.
“ Whenever you come back to the states Elijah,” her voice quivered, “you can always find me here. I will be waiting for you here. Oh Elijah, please come home soon! I can’t live that long without you!” her voice broke as she buried her face in my chest.
“I will Ellie, and I will find you, and we will be together. Forever. I promise.” I couldn’t let her go. I just couldn’t. I finally let go of her hand, as the boat was practically sailing away with out her. I started running along the dock, chasing after the wooden beast that was taking her away from me. “I promise Ellie!” I screamed in my hoarse voice. I saw her face one last time. “I promise.” I whispered, as I sank to the ground. At that moment I realized that war may have stolen away forever, the girl I loved.

I shuddered as I set foot once again on the battle camps. Here it was; my life for the next year. I buried my hands in my pockets, as I muttered something to a fellow soldier in passing. I was bitter. Bitter as the cold itself, if not, more bitter. It was hard counting my “blessings” when all I had, had been taken away, and the only thing I could see in front of me was the gluttonous head of “War,” ready to devour our souls and take our lives, like bandits, not satisfied by sight but by complete clutch control.

I wrote Ellie, every moment I got my hands on paper, which was in essence, once every two weeks. After my first response from her I wrote back almost immediately. Nothing could explain the joy I felt when receiving that letter, and knowing that I had at least this much of a grip on “War.” But my heart began to grow doubtful as weeks passed without response from Eloise. The weeks stretched to months, and I was drained from grief. I was going on my eleventh month of the year without word from Ellie. The year was uneventful, and I was told I was able to end my year of service early, by going home for Christmas. I thought, just maybe I would try to write Ellie one more time; though I was doubtful she would respond in such a short months notice. I was writing to her about how I would be home for Christmas, when one of my fellow soldiers walked by, stopping at the sight of me writing.
“ I wouldn’t try writing now Soldier.” He said with a snicker. I looked at him confused. “Haven’t you heard?”
“No. Heard what?”
“Those Red Coats have had New York’s harbor for the past, lets say, ten months. No mail comes in or out from there anymore.”
“What!”
“Yup, that’s right, so your little girlfriend, sure hasn’t been getting your letters for the past, however long you’ve been writing her.” I stared at him in disbelief. “If you don’t believe me you can go in our army mail room yourself and pick out your letters one by one if you want to.”
“Yes. Yes, that’s exactly what I am going to do.” I said harshly. I stood up, saying no more, and headed straight for the mailroom.
“Good luck Soldier!” I heard the distant voice.

Getting in the mailroom was no easy task; the army mailman shut me down immediately. So I slipped through the back door. I looked up and saw my huge task ahead of me. Piles upon piles of mail, all addressed to desperate wives waiting for their husbands reply, fatherless children awaiting their dad’s letters, or desperate lovers like Eloise, waiting for my response. So I began my work, searching through each pile of mail for every letter addressed to Eloise Middleton. I did the math, in all I found that I had written 22 letters, due to the fact that I wrote one every two weeks for eleven months. I had to find every one of them. And so I did. I worked well through the night, and found every single letter to Eloise. I took them back to my quarters and hid them away, in hopes of my return to give them to her. I would think at night, of how she must have felt, never hearing back from me. Did she ever think me dead? Did she miss me for all of the year, or did she find someone else to fill the hole in her heart? In a panic, I would try to push the horrible thoughts away, only to let my mind be invaded by new ones. Even still, Christmas was approaching, and so was home.

On the day of my departure, I was full of hope and the sweet name of Eloise on my lips. I had every letter I had ever written to her in my bag, ready to present to her full of pride and joy. It was a long sail home due to the British having our harbor. We had to go the long rout around, before we reached a small inlet in one of New York’s many harbors. I arrived on Christmas Eve. I was overwhelmed at the sight of my hometown back in the states. My joy was uncontainable as I rushed through the streets without a care in the world. I was a free soldier. Could it be? Had I overcome “War” herself? I was singing Eloise name as I sprinted through the streets. I darted straight to the address of Eloise house on her letter. A young maid opened the door.
“May I please speak to the young woman with the name Eloise Middleton?” I asked in the most pleasant voice I had ever heard come out of my mouth.
“Only Mr. Chazwick is home at the moment sir.” She said, taken back.
“And whom is Mr. Chazwick?”
“The man of the house sir.” My heart stopped, and dropped to the pit of my bottomless stomach. The man of the house? Eloise’s husband?
“Her husband?” I choked.
“I am sorry sir, I don’t get involved in Miss Middletons’ personal business, I just know the man has been visiting very, very often lately.
“Her fiancé?”
“I don’t know sir.” She said very sternly. I fell backward; my heart was full of anguish, as every horrible thought of the situation came into my mind. I held my breath. I cursed the very name of War, for it had now taken everything away from me. No, it couldn’t be. She forgot about our dream. She forgot Elijah Jamison Clarington. She forgot me. How so quickly in just a year? It was all I was afraid of; my nightmares became reality. Full of agony, and trying to hold my broken heart together, I ran away, before the maid could say any more, and before I could meet this horrible Chazwick who stole my Eloise. I was running for so long when I had to catch my breath. I leaned against a wall, as my sweat and tears intertwined. I was heaving from sorrow, and fatigue. Calling out the name of Eloise. It was a cold Christmas Eve, and I stuffed one hand into my pocket. Then I felt it. The crumpled piece of paper. I whipped it out and slowly uncurled it, revealing the peaceful picture of Albany, New York. The picture Ellie had given me. I laughed sorrowfully, and threw the paper.
“Always find you there, huh Ellie?” A thousand thoughts went through my mind, and I picked the paper up. A glimmer of hope sparked in me and I started running once more.
“Yes, I will find you there.” Thankfully, Albany was not far from where I was. I asked some people were I could find this secret park, where Ellie said she would always be. They directed me toward a small little alley. I carefully crept down the alley, as the walls seemed to enclose on me the farther I went. I came to the end to find myself in front of the most beautiful scene I had ever seen. I took a deep breath in of the fresh, cool air. There I was alone, in this park. I could hear the trees whispering my name softly. A light snowfall began. In the midst of the cold, I had this overwhelming warmth come over me, and fill my whole being with a sense of comfort and hope. Hope. What a word I so looked for, but never found. I began to walk; walk and hope for something to happen. I approached a nearby bench and sat down on its icy surface. I fingered the stack of 22 letters I had written to Eloise. It was my own heart on paper; my very soul in ink. I found myself thinking, “I’ll wait, just a little longer”, to many times, as time began to wear away. The warmth began to leave my body, as my hope began to dwindle, in a slow, painful process leaving my heart for last. I shuddered as I buried my face in my hands. I looked up to see the icy pond that was not yet frozen, but only had a very thin layer of ice starting to form. I looked at the letters. I found a relatively large rock, and tied it to the top of my letters. In a sullen state, and tears in my eyes, I walked to the pond. I raised my hand, making ready for the drowning of my heart in those letters, and all the foolish happiness I thought I would be able to control. I was going to drown the heaviness of War, along with its soul mate, Grief, that stood closely by its side, ready for command. I was letting go of myself, until I thought I heard my name. My ears stung.
“Oh War! Will you ever stop?” I yelled, “Yet still you torture me with the voice of nature! The trees themselves cry for me! They cry my name day and night!” Yet I heard it again. This time closer. My heart was pounding; I could feel my blood rushing. Then I heard it again.
“Elijah! Elijah Jamison Clarington!” I whirled around to see her. I didn’t know it was possible for a human being to get even lovelier. She was running at me full speed, calling my name, and there was no stopping her.
“Elijah!”
“Oh my! Eloise!” I screamed back with joy overflowing, coming out my skin. She ran and jumped into my arms. I was flooded with such pleasure I couldn’t contain my human body. I scooped her up and spun her round and round.
“Eloise! I thought you to be married, and I thought you forgot about me! Who is the Chazwick fellow?”
“Oh Elijah, that is my older cousin! He has been keeping watch over me while my parents are away. I thought you to be dead! When I heard a war ship was coming to port today with men, I came here to mourn your loss, or in hopes to find you waiting for me!”
“And waiting I was! Since the British took the harbor, they closed the port and I didn’t get any of your letters, and you never received mine either! I thought about you everyday, and wrote you every time I got my hands on paper! See!” I picked up the letters and presented them to her. “I knew I would find you here My Eloise,” I said as I brushed her hair off of her pink cheeks. She looked at me with her chocolate eyes. “Merry Christmas, Ellie.”
“Merry Christmas Elijah,” She said thoughtfully as she squeezed the pile of letters close to her heart. She looked then again into my eyes, into the very depth of my soul. “You are safe now Soldier.”
“Safe.” I repeated pulling her in. “Together with you Eloise, forever. Just as I promised.”