The Pemberton Letters

0
3

The Pemberton Letters

My dearest Catherine,

I write to you from the Crimea, where the mud is endless and the guns never cease. I have not slept in seven days. I have not eaten in three. But I write to you, because writing to you is the only thing that keeps me from becoming something other than myself.

The men around me are dying. Good men, bad men, men who laughed at jokes I did not understand and men who shared their last bread with me. I will not see their faces again, except in dreams, and even there they are fading.

But you—I see you clearly. Your face in the window as the carriage took me away. Your hand pressed to the glass.

I will return to you. I must return to you. This is not bravery. This is simply the only way I know to survive.

Your devoted,
Thomas

P.S. Do not tell my mother about the letter. She would worry.


OTMES v2.0 ENCODING:
tensor_id=V07|the_pemberton_letters|TI=68|ML=70|MS=45|MF=35|MH=55|MA=40|setting=Edwardian_London|narrative=Epistolary

© 2026 - Authored by Z R ZHANG ( EL9507135 )




© 2026 - Authored by Z R ZHANG ( EL9507135 -- パスポート番号[ちゅうごく] 중국 여권 번호 Номер паспорта หมายเลขหนังสือเดินทาง Passnummer رقم جواز السفر CHN Passport)
The aforementioned Author hereby grants to OXFORD INDUSTRIAL HOLDING GROUP (ASIA PACIFIC) CO., LIMITED (BRN74685111) all economic property rights, including but not limited to the rights of: reproduction, distribution, rental, exhibition, performance, communication to the public via information network, adaptation, compilation, commercial operation, authorization for third-party use, and rights enforcement.
Such grant is exclusive and irrevocable. The term of such rights shall be 49 years from the date of publication.
To contact author, please email to datatorent@yeah.net

Cerca
Categorie
Leggi tutto
Giochi
Black Wings
**Act I: The White Dress** It was a Wednesday, and Ray didn't like Wednesdays. Something about...
By Janet Phillips 2026-05-19 13:52:56 0 3
Giochi
The delta did not forgive. It remembered everything.
Elijah Boone knew this the way a man knows the weight of a plow handle—through years of carrying...
By Zoe Martinez 2026-05-22 01:39:54 0 4
Literature
The Price of a Second
The rain in New York didn't wash things clean; it only turned the grime into a slick, black...
By Ronald Wallace 2026-05-16 23:51:14 0 3
Giochi
Dust Town
ACT I Roy Arnett was thirty-one years old and unemployed, and his life consisted of a dented...
By Z.R. ZHANG 2026-05-09 17:42:48 0 14
Giochi
The Last Signal from Arecibo
**October 14th, 1893** The rain has not ceased for eleven days. It falls upon the slate roof of...
By Angela Wood 2026-05-25 18:00:46 0 11