[ WP ] A 101-year old bottle washed up on a beach with a letter inside . It 's for you .

Translated from original French: 
 
 Dear future reader: 
 
 I wonder who you are. 
 
 I have no way of knowing where this letter will go, or who will read it. Indeed, there's a chance that you wo n't even understand what this is and throw it out. But on the off chance that you are reading this, that you can understand me - Hello. 
 
 My name is Gerald Lambert. I was born in Paris to a wealthy merchant and his lovely wife. Out of 5 children, I was the only one to survive childhood. I suppose that made me special to them. 
 
 ** [ A large section of ruined writing and running ink ] ** 
 
 anged when the draft came. 
 
 `` Fight for honor! For your country! For brotherhood!'' 
 
 Honor. Such a stupid thing to fight for, honor. But I did n't know that at the time. I was swept up with the others, carried away in a whirlwind of pride and patriotism and misplaced trust in my superiors. 
 
 All that was shattered on my first day in the trenches. 
 
 The Germans were relentless. They took position after position, town after town. I hated them. Some nights I would dream of killing thousands of Germans - just me and the company machine gun. 
 
 About a month after I first stepped into the trenches, our commander ordered us to fire into the backs of retreating Germans. At the time, I did it without hesitation. I think I killed 5 of them that day. I was exhilarated. 
 
 But that night, I had a terrible dream. I stood in a field of a thousand graves, each unmarked. Some were decorated with German colours, some Austrian, and some French. And it was quiet - dreadfully quiet. I stood among the graves of these dead soldiers and asked aloud if honour mattered. The silence was my answer. 
 
 I suppose, then I realized that this was not a fight of honour. This was slaughter - meaningless death. And I resolved to take no part in it. 
 
 I missed on purpose. I stayed back on charges. I purposely let some Germans go when I was on watch. 
 
 But now, as I lay in this disgusting shell hole dying of blood loss, I know all my efforts were for nothing. My comrades are still fighting, dying. The Germans, too. All around me, I can hear the screams. 
 
 The ocean is nearby, beautiful and stoic. I think I'll toss this message there, to be lost to the waves. 
 
 I only have one request, dear reader. 
 
 Never let this happen again.
