Jace sat shivering in a dimly lit room, trying to stop the trembles that spread through his fingertips.
He was running out of ink, only allowing him to write few sentences, so his letter would have to be brief. If only he could pack his experiences into a paragraph, but no one could sum up the loss and horrific events that had occurred in the past few days. He remembered looking to the skies, seeing patches of blue blotted out by the passing planes he knew would bring more loss and pain. He knew Clary wanted to hear he was alright and would be back soon, but how could he promise something like that? He could not promise his safe homecoming, none of the his fellow soldiers could either.
His hands jerked savagely, a spray of black ink spreading across the page. He swore, turning the page over, after he'd set his pen beside him on the cold floor. His uniform wasn't locking in much body heat, and the ground sent icicles of cold through his body. The weather was another chapter in the book misery, something he could add in as page of the events to jot down in the book would be the death of his fellow solider. As he'd fallen over forwards, his eyes focused on a point in the 'd looked down at the still body,into the eyes of his friend.
What had stared back at him were a pair of unseeing eyes, and a face wiped clean of fear and worry. He'd wondered himself if that would be a better option, but then the pictures of Clary weeping over his grave brought him back to reality. He was lucky to have made it this far. He brought the pen down to the paper, drawing in a deep breath, before he wrote the first words.
Dear Clary, His hand shook steadily, and his eyes battled with the dim light. She had written numerous times before, asking if he was alright, each letter becoming more and more desperate, and less elaborate. The last letter consisted of only five words. Tell me you're not dead. He was alive, and not hurt...
I write to you today with a spreading smile...
He crossed out the line furiously, the lies blotted out with ink. He wanted to be sure she did not worry, but he could not fill the page with lies, telling her everything was alright and life was joyful...when it was anything but. He wondered what she was doing this very moment, if she was sitting near a nice warm fire enjoying a hot meal, or out in the cold searching for one. He could not bear the second option, or anything that indicated she was suffering the least bit.
I want to say I'm great and everything's just fine, but cannot bring myself to move the pen to write such. I find myself now sitting here in this cold tent, the floor hard and bitterly cold underneath me. The light is dim, flickering like the hope of us all.I remember the words of your last letters, searching them for the beacon of light I need so desperately ,a hopeful feeling. I looked down at a fallen solider a few days ago, into his eyes sunken into dark bruises. The feeling I received was dizziness, and anger followed by a hopelessness that sunk farther into the ground then we are forced to dig. The darkness threatens to swallow me whole, and at times I've thought of drowning myself in grief and sadness, or even emptiness, the kind of hollow that comes after nightmares, or traumatic experiences. Every time I feel like i'll be trapped in this state, spinning around and around in the tornado of war, I picture you smiling at me, even laughing that I would write a letter like this one. i might even imagine you saying you didn't think I was capable of such ask if I'm alright, well physically I am great. But what of the wounds you can't see, that go unnoticed as time goes on. But as time passes these wounds won't heal, but will be torn open endlessly as the nightmares flood my dreams, and the ghosts of battle are at the front of my mind. But I will always hang on to the other good things in my life, like you Clary, and my family.
He felt the loneliness pouring out from the pen, his emotions bleeding forth onto the paper. He scanned what he had written, surprising himself a little. Two years ago, a letter like this would have been unthinkable, and he would have laughed at how foolish it sounded. Sometimes the truth can be that though.
He sat for a few moments with his pen poised to write, and took a few more deep breaths.
How is Izzy? I would appreciate some news of her, even if the news is not what I wish to hear. I haven't heard of Alec in these past few months, and pray that he's alright. Maybe you know anything, even something slight? Even though you most likely won't, I had to ask. I think about you all alot these days. Clary, my love and the rest of my family, Isabelle and Alec, and Max.
One of the questions you asked me was if I heard of . Well I am glad to inform you that he is well. Other than his leg, he has fared well.
He crossed out that line, scolding himself for yet another lie. Simon was a close friend of his now, and was currently suffering from a serious leg injury. He had been informed by the doctors of his critical condition yesterday,and that he may make it.
I cannot write this letter and not tell about Simon. He is currently resting from a leg injury, and is
His pen jerked again, but he caught it before it made any large blots to obscure the words underneath.
not expected to make it. He is being watched by a few doctors, and they have predicted the injury is not one minor scrape. I visited him earlier today, and he asked me to write this letter to you,and tell you all of this. He choked with the words he wished for me to tell you.
I remember them clearly.
"Tell her I love her...Isabelle. And Clary. Tell her she better make it through this war. She's been ...amazing."
I imagine there was words he could not say, things he couldn't form into sentences. How do you sum up a friendship like that in mere seconds?I understand now why I didn't say anything to Alec when we parted, just with a hug and a nod, and of course pained looks and tears. We knew we were losing that, a friendship. I have not stopped caring for him, and I believe our friendships stands.
But I saw it in his eyes, the words he could not say. I love you. I miss you. I wish there was more I could do for you. I say them now, but still cannot capture such commitment and connection.
Please know I love you.
He paused, his pen poised to cross out the line. After holding in his breath, he pressed the pen to the paper and began writing once more.
You've been the center of my thoughts when I feel I should slip away, the central point at which my world spins, as I think I once heard my father say. I wonder what he would think of me now.
I miss the generous green eyes and the bouncy red curls.
I miss the way your fingers ache for pencils, and the way your drawings always amaze me.
I miss your smile, and the sparkle I saw everyday.
I miss you, and I love you.
As I said before there are no words for how I feel.
There is a battle tomorrow, and I wish i could tell you I was brave. I want to say I am ready to serve the country, and excited to throw myself into battle.
Excited.
Seems like a joke. How could I be? Am I not brave enough, do I not have the skills? I hope this letter makes it to you Clary, for that is another one of my fears. I do not believe myself a coward, but who does? I am scared, Clarissa. I hope you know this, for it is the truth.
But I am glad, in a way. I think a solider is a good name, something to be remembered by. I smile to myself when I think someone would say solider Lightwood. I'm glad to go out on this note, remembered by this letter. I hope of course that this is not the case.
He smiled sadly, rereading his words. He decided not to cross them out, even if they sounded ...odd.
I know my name will be forgotten, a name that fades into the shadows over the years, and eventually is just another jumble of words etched on a gravestone. But I hope through the years the bravery of my fellow soldiers and others are recognized. One day I hope this war will end, and this will happen.
I love you Clarissa Fray.
Jace.