Death

Still no word from my wife. I fear that the military has notified her that I have been killed in action and that she believes my letters to be from an impostor. ...I’m so alone. No one at the squadron acknowledges the sight of me and I can’t even withdraw pay. I live off of the small good deeds of Milo and Sergeant Towser, although both believe me to be “dead,” too. My death provoked Cathcart to raise the number of missions to seventy, so all the men curse my memory. I have nothing left! No hopes for my future, no family to be heard from, no friends, no thermometer to check my temperature daily. I know my health is no declining at an unsafe pace. My face has ages about twenty years and black, hollow sacks have developed under my eyes. Even Captain Flume will not speak to me now. …What does it even mean to be “alive”? Being alive involves interaction with other people, enjoying simple pleasures, eating, sleeping, dreaming, working… Well, I guess for all intents and purposes, I really am “dead.” There is not much left “alive” in me. My only hope is to wait for the end of the war and the mercy of someone to bring me back to life.