John Watson is a young soldier and army doctor. Really young. Too young to be a Captain, let alone a Captain and a doctor, according to some (stupidly stuck-up) superior officers. Too young to be good enough, they tell him. He gets his degree despite this at age 23. He gets promoted the very next year. He doesn't give a damn what they think. But the higher-ups assign him a therapist to monitor both him and his team anyways, to "make sure he is working well with the other soldiers and functioning well as leader" apparently. Ella Thompson decides that writing letters about everything that happens to him will honestly help him get adjusted to his new leadership position. So he does (mostly to get her off his back because, honestly, who new therapists could be so pushy? or so scarily persistent...)
He stares at the scraps of dust covered loose leaf and the chewed-on pen that one of the boys had lent him and decided to just get it over with. He'd write whatever came to mind and the recipient would just have to deal with his word-vomit. Here it goes:
To whomever it may concern-
That is a silly phrase, isn't it? I don't know why this letter would concern you at all. Really, it shouldn't be a bother and you don't really necessarily need to respond if you're too busy or you don't want to or something. Really, the only reason I am concerning anyone (READ: sending this probably pointless letter) is because my therapist made me suggested it. Ah. I'm writing this in pen… which means I can't erase… and as first subjects go, therapists aren't really the kind of thing that make people want to talk to you. Oh well. Brutally honest it is, then.
I guess I should tell you a little about myself... that's a safer topic. My name is Captain John H. Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, I'm twenty-four years old, and I'm writing to you from where I'm posted in Afghanistan. So yeah, I'm at war right now. I don't know who this letter will be sent to; Ella, (that's my therapist), told me she'd send it to a school and they'd give it to someone. I remember being back in school; I wouldn't have ever taken this kind of thing seriously so I guess I can't blame you if you don't. Ta in advance if you do though, it's always nice to know that the real world exists back home somewhere.
So, if you do want to reply, I'd really love hearing about London. I miss it like crazy- well, whenever I have the time to worry about things like that. (Sometimes I'm a bit more occupied with staying alive and keeping my men alive.) Anyways, yeah, if you have the time and the motivation- first off, good for you mate, you're bloody brilliant. But secondly, or rather, my main point is, tell me about yourself. Your life. London. School. Anything about England really, because -and oh boy, Ella's going to have a field day with this if she ever hears of it; good thing reading other peoples' mail is illegal- well, really, because it's easy to get homesick here.
Hope I'm not writing this just to be the butt of some high school idiot's joke, or worse, pity session. Don't know how to end this,
- J.H.W.
There, he'd done it. Written the bloody letter. (Finally.) Now Ella would get off his back about it, and he could move on with his life. He sincerely doubted anyone would bother reading, let alone responding, but that didn't matter. He just wanted Ella to sign his damn papers and let his team back on active service.
***A/N: PLEASE REVIEW! All feedback is appreciated, and if you want this to be continued then please tell me. Thanks:)