Hello, so... english is not my first lenguage and blame my social studies teacher!
ENJOY!
Dear Arthur,
As I write to you today I'm on the verge of tears, I have spent enough nights shooting the darkness and getting shoot back to know I will find my end in the trenches, this place is more like a rabbit whole than those battle fields the stories spoke about but I'm not a child anymore so I suppose its ok. As days go by this place is colder and I feel like freezing as I feel my body get numb from exhaustion but I have no way to get out, the reinforcements will not come for two more weeks and I don't think I can stand here that long. Some nights, the good nights, I pray to get trench feet, it's when the water in the bottom of the holes gets your feet s swollen and sick, I may get home as a cripple but I won't be the cripple who shoot himself in foot just to get out of this hell. Other nights I'm not so strong, those nights I pray for the grim to come take me away because the ghosts of the dead may follow me back to my live with you and make me go mad, but you may think I'm already mad, for thinking those things, but tell me Arthur how can I not think of it when I have seen death around me so many times I'm not scared of it anymore and that above all, that is what makes me scared the most. So in that case Arthur, is it a sin wishing my death?
I'm sorry if I scared you dear Arthur, but I had to tell someone because just for you to know I'm trying my best to help England just like you whished, so please take care of little Peter and pray for my soul.
All my love, Alfred F. Jones