Letters
Alfred,
I'm sorry; it seems so long since I've last written to you. The company has grown rather popular in these past few months, I find myself without any sort of free time anymore. Luckily, I managed to find a few spare moments to sit down and write to you.
How long has it been now: 2 years? It went by, physically, so quickly- and yet my heart throbs with the ache of hundreds of years. Maybe I will see you soon, da? Though, if I dropped in too soon, I know you'd be upset with me.
Your friend from the Marines stopped by the other day, Arthur, I think it was. He came inside and we talked for a while- well, he did most of the talking. I'm not too fond of speaking of your departure. We didn't argue (no matter how much I wanted to acquaint his face with my fist at times) infact, I daresay it was a rather nice conversation. You probably like the idea of he and I getting along, don't you?
The garden doesn't look as green as it did when you left. The roses have lost their vibrant red, and a few didn't even bloom this spring. I tend to it when I can, though I know my thumb is not nearly as green as yours. The sunflowers are doing well, though. Their taller then me, and, though the petals aren't as bright as they should be, they still stand all the same.
I miss you, Alfred. It's odd to wake in the morning to an empty bed, to not hear some kind of horrid pop music or smell that disgusting cooking grease in the air when I get home. I can hardly sleep at night, my body seems to forget that you won't be here to act as my warmth at night. I try everything I can, but I toss and I turn, and when I do sleep, my dreams are filled with memories of the day you left. That's why, in a way, I'm glad I don't sleep as much as I should. I know your gone when I'm awake, I don't need to be reminded when I close my eyes.
It's snowing again; I can remember when you'd wake me in the mornings like an excited child. You'd force me out of bed and wrap me in coats and gloves before I could day a word, and you'd drag me into the yard to play. I'd sit and watch as you'd build forts and make snow angles- and it was times like those when I'd remember how horribly I'd fallen in love with you. I regret it now: not building a snowman when you wanted me to, or purposely eating the marshmallows in your hot chocolate when you turned away. I should have done those things, should have indulged you in those little delights while you were here. But I can't now, can I? No, not until we meet again.
I look forward to seeing you again, to falling asleep in the warmth of your embrace and kissing your soft lips once more. I hope that time will come soon Alfred, I hope..
Yours forever,
Ivan
. . . .
He sealed the envelope, looking down at the crisp white paper as his fingertips lightly traced the edges. After a moment, he stood tall again, and left the room.
. . . .
The car door shut behind him, and with a click of his remote, the doors of the vehicle locked behind him. He shoved in hands into the pockets of his coat, the plastic wrapped around the sunflower bouquet under his crinkling as he did so, and dipped his chin a little further into his scarf, gaining only some warmth against the bitter cold of the winter afternoon. The snow crunched below his feet as he began to walk up the path and to the tall gate that stood ahead.
After he'd passed through, Ivan made his way up the hill, his eyes set dully forward, locked ahead of him and not on the miles and miles of empty fields. It was bare, the grass having died with the cold temperatures, but the one thing that stayed standing and present was the large oak at the top of the hill. It's leaves had long since falled, leaving an ominous structure of bare branches and twisted wood.
When he reached the top of the hill, he kneeled down in front of the single stone that stood there. He pushed away the snow on the ground, until a tin image of the American flag came into view. Quietly, he pulled the tin bow up, setting it on his knees as he opened it. Ivan pulled the envelope from his pocket and set it in gently on top of the thick stack of others, before he shut it again with a soft click.
The sunflowers and the tin was set in front of the stone, and for the first time since he'd arrived Ivan looked at it. He felt a smile on his lips, a bitter, self - pity laced smile as he leaned down and pressed his lips ever so gently against the stone, feeling the indents of the carved words beneath his lips:
Alfred F. Jones
Brother and Son, Honored Solider, and Loved Fiancée
1990-2012
Ivan rose again, and with a last glance, turned his back on the tombstone of his beloved Fiancée.
He reminded himself to write another letter soon.