Letters of War: Preview

Our lips parted as the blaring horn of a military truck roared a few feet from me, breaking our embrace and tearing our souls. It was noon and the sun was shining; its rays caresses both he and I gently as the wind softly touch our cheeks.

I stare at his deep, dark, brown eyes, his ruffled and messy hair, his small, pinkish lips, and his tall figure--just twenty centimeters from my stature of 150--in his work fatigues, washed and pressed to perfection. I remember, it was olive drab in color.

He sigh reluctantly as he raise his duffel bag to his shoulder and grunts heavily, as if it weighs more than what it seemed; I knew from perspective alone there was more than the contents of his gear that weigh him down.

...

There was also a promise

I didn't know how to feel or to react back then. It was almost... surreal. The rough feel of his palm but his gentle caress felt almost like a dream today; even now sometimes, I can feel that pressure on my cheek. Not too hard and not too light; just right.

When he leaned forward for a kiss, I was both enthralled and remorseful. Sure, we have been doing the same routing over and over for the past few years--way back since high school, even. But that time was different. That time I thought, what if... what if this is the last time I'll get to do this?

What if this is the last time I'll get the chance to see you and talk to you? What if...

...what if this is the last time I get to hold you?

...

He didn't spoke a word; for a moment, our lips were locked in a deep, passionate kiss before he parted and leaned close to my ear. That is when he whispered these words,

"I'll come back for you, I promise," he stuttered and bit his lower lip. "I'll write you. We'll communicate that way. And i-if I make it through those three years, I'll come back for you."

"Then," he continued. "Then I'll propose."

"H-hai..." that was the only words I can mutter before I felt his rough hand caress my cheeks and wipe away the tears that I didn't realize had fell. We locked our eyes once more, digging through the very depths of our soul before we fell into another embrace and a second kiss--one that would be our last before the horns from his colleagues beckons him.

"Miyazaki! Hurry up; we can't waste any more time!"

That was the last time I saw him. His image, tall and broad with a khaki duffel bag on his shoulder was etched into my memory. Slowly I took off my glasses as it began to fog from tears that began to build up--I told myself to stay strong and not to cry, but still it fell. When I had them back on, he was already on his mode of transport--a tank--sitting carelessly at the edge of the turret, stuffing his items into the hatch before his wave of goodbye. The machine rolled towards the distant land.

I wanted to give chase, but decided not to. I thought that I have to remain strong, to believe in his promise--our promise--of reunion. I stood in position as the column of military machines marched its way out of the camp until he was out of sight. He answered the call of his country; he was gone.

He went to war.

For the next three years we exchanged letters in a regular basis before things finally started to quiet down and died through the passage of time. I was cornered with life back at home like he was out there in the frontlines. Our intervals grew from days to weeks, then months, annually, before finally it stopped.

Three years had passed. Three years I waited for him in this damn spot, watching the horizon for his grand return. Three damn years...

…

I am Akemi Sakurai and this is our story...

*END PROLOGUE*

A/N: Sorry for updating this a little late and only half the first time. This is a prologue so far and there will be more to come. Updates will be soon, but not on a set intervals. We will try to work as best as we can on the next chapters. Cheers!