"I Regret to Inform You..."
Nancy Bernard sat down, looking through the day's mail. It was the high point of
her day. No children were around to look after, and her husband had died long
ago.
She filed away the bills, sighing as she did so. There were just so many. Maybe
her retirement would pay for it all. And her survivor benefits from her
husband...
A letter from her friend Margaret. "More gossip, I'll wager," she said
to herself.
One piece of mail caught her interest. It was from the Imperial Military. She
set all the other mail down and opened it, hoping to read of some great deed
that her son had performed, some medal he'd won with his bravery.
She began reading...
"Ms. Bernard,
I regret to inform you that your son, John Bernard, was killed in the line of
duty. I can find no words that will ease your loss, I am sure. I've never been
good at words, or trying to lessen the pain that one feels after a loved one has
been killed.
John served the platoon with courage and honour, and brought to his squad great
dignity. He was always a friendly face, a man you'd want to know better, someone
who you felt you could trust, and who trusted you. All of his squadmates knew he
was looking out for them, and they in return did their best to look out for him.
It is an unfortunate circumstance that he was killed, but he left behind
memories of a man no single one of us will be ashamed to have called a friend.
I am truly sorry for your loss. May the Emperor guide you in through this
terrible pain.
Sincerely,
Dennis Becker, Lieutenant, 1 Platoon, C Company, 1st Battalion, Median IV"
Nancy put the letter down and brought her hand to her mouth. Her eyes began to
lose focus, and she could feel tears gathering at the edges. She stood up and
back away from the table, whispering, "No... no... not Johnny. Not
Johnny!"
But the letter stared back at her, like some horrible monster waiting to dig
into her with long claws of grief and tear her apart with fangs of pure anguish.
She wearily stumbled into her bedroom. Around it were various pictures and
memorabilia of her husband. He had been in the military once... but he was
killed, just before John was born. Now the pictures of him in his uniform seemed
to taunt her. The uniform hanging on the wall was like a slap in the face.
She had been so proud of that service, that had now claimed both her husband and
her son. It didn't seem fair, or right.
She sat down heavily on her bed, streams of tears flowing down her face. In
rage, she took one of her husband's medal boxes and through it at the uniform.
"Damn you, Emperor! Why must you kill off everyone I love in your petty
little wars? Why? Don't I serve you the right way? Don't I attend Sermon every
week at the Ecclesiasty? Why do you do this to me? Why?"
Her voiced cracked, and she could say no more. Nancy buried her face in her
hands, feeling the tiny twin rivers of despair run from her eyes down over her
hands and off onto the floor.
It wasn't fair.
It never was.
THE END
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