“A calm night for a war.” This was the thought that ran through Arnold Wattson’s head right before a bullet did. James watched him fall but never could imagine Arnold’s last thoughts to be so serene. All he could do was blindly shoot in the direction he estimated the bullet’s origin.
After the quick burst of blind gunfire, James rushed to his friend and saw the stars’ shining reflection out of his companion’s still, open eye. Arnold was dead.
“At least you never felt anything, buddy.” He reached for the note he knew would be in Wattson’s coat pocket, right on top of his heart. “At least he aimed for your head.” James always had a sick humor despite the circumstance. His letter wasn’t in an envelope but it was known by everyone it was for Arnold’s wife. He opened it anyway. He read the words on the perfect white paper, amazed by the only sentence there: “I’m going to die in this place.”