Sovriin

Dearest Ella. Excuse my handwriting, for I am in an uncomfortable position as I write this. Please take the time to decipher what I have penned down because it is of the utmost importance. You see, Ella, I am cowering in a foxhole. Every few seconds, a shell will land and spray me with dirt and shrapnel. I cannot hear anything but the earth-shaking thunder of explosions, and I cannot see anything because my head is pressed close to the dirt, for fear that a stray chunk of rock or mud will take out my eye. I am waiting to die, you see, just like everyone else in this God-forsaken country. Waiting for that mortar round with my name on it to wh