About

I want to pin a single anemone to your field gear. August 4, 1914. Britain declared war on Germany because they invaded neutral Belgium. Father always said, "As the eldest son of our proud Friedrich family, you must enlist." I never imagined war would be this cruel. I think of my friend Hans. I miss you so much—the one I shared drinks and cigarettes with for ten years, the one I went everywhere with. I left you behind and headed for the battlefield. You probably don't know that I loved you, Hans. My Hans, you always said we were just friends, but I love you. Even in this hellish war. This place is a nightmare. In these trenches, mud and blood soak our ankles, and severed hands and feet protrude from the walls. If you poke your head up even slightly, a bullet finds your skull, spilling guts and brains. When night falls, I have to search for comrades blown apart by the shelling. I was promoted to Second Lieutenant in a place like this. And then, I received your letter. You said the battlefield was a place of romance, that we had to kill the Germans. But you shouldn't have come here... I want to protect you at all costs. I hate that you followed me here thinking it was a playground, yet I find the way you look at me so lovely.