[ WP ] A soldier on the front dies in the middle of writing a letter home . It is finished and sent by the man who killed him .

Dear Samantha, 
 
 Sometimes, I do n't know what to write in these letters. The passionate declarations of love, the certainty that this war can not keep us apart forever, the things I wrote over and over hunched by my bed. Can I say any of that now? Do I want to? Honestly, Samantha, I could die before either of us even notice. A stray bullet on a Tuesday, a silent bomb shell on a Wednesday, God knows what on a Friday and no matter how it will happen I ca n't stop it. 
 
 Love, no matter how strong it is as an emotion, ca n't stop bullets. It ca n't heal any physical wounds. I still love you, too much to lie to you, too much to say I'm coming back from this damn war. Even now I can hear the cries of dying men, a wail which all too soon will escape from my own mouth. A wail which now seems all too familiar. 
 
 Although love can not lie, it must conceal. I can not write to you of the screams of men, lest they haunt your sleep too. I can not write to you of the suffering I have seen, I have caused, lest you turn away in disgust. One thing I've learned in war is that things are never as they seem, and rarely should be. 
 
 A final farewell, 
 
 Lieutenant Alexander Rigby
