The envelope was worn and yellowed with age. It was wrinkled where it had once been folded carelessly in half, though it had since been repeatedly smoothed out by gentle hands. She held it as if it was a priceless treasure–and to her it was.
This was the only letter that survived the fire, the only remnant of a young man’s love for her during a time of war. They had gotten engaged just before he was shipped off for the service to fight in a country halfway around the world. He had written her religiously and every letter had been stored carefully in a memory box; every letter except the one she held.
It was this letter, the one where he talked about their future, that she had carried with her that day. It was this letter that was the only one to survive. The firemen didn’t know what had started the house fire but by the time they arrived the house was a total loss. The memory box was destroyed and her last connection to her love was reduced to this one single letter.
So today, on the anniversary of his death, she pulled the letter out once again and read the words he wrote, about the big plans he had and the love they shared. It seemed like a lifetime ago now, but she had never stopped loving him, even when he came home in the simple pine box, put there by a stray round from what might have been a friendly gun.
Writing prompts: envelope, priceless, service