Hey, all my fellow ARTISTS!


Welcome BACK to MINI SHORT STORY FRIDAYS where I write to you, a short story. Each holds meaning and I want to share my craft. Today's mini short story I wrote a page called SOMEDAY.

I hope you enjoy it.

Leave a comment and tell me what you think.


France, 1820

My Dearest, Harriet

From the moment I met you, I knew you were the one from our first dance to our first kiss. Every chance I get to hold you in my arms and kiss you, I see you becoming my wife. We were married, with children, we owned as Ga ranch, we lived in peace; until I was called to war to fight for mine, and our countries freedom. I am writing you this letter to inform you I have failed us. I failed this country I love dearly. I was shot in the ribs during the battle and left for dead for three nights. I found warmth in the other dead soldiers as I looked up at the stars in the sky, and every chance I closed my eyes, I saw your beautiful face. Your eyes, your smile is what made me fight to keep living until I took my last breath. It was below ten degrees out South. It was morning when Lt. James Williams spotted a red coat dangling from the sides and rushed over to assist.

Once, he realized it was me he called for help, and the doctors and nurses did all they could to keep me alive. I, a French immigrant, counted the seconds, which turned into minutes before they announced my death that very afternoon.

I want you to know my dearest, I fought for us. I fought to make things right. You’re probably reading this with tears in your eyes, taken aback by my unexpected death. You’re probably sitting in the living room by the fireplace, warming up with heavy blankets wrapped around your body to feel the comfort of my embrace. You’re probably worried about who’s going to look after CJ. You’re probably wondering, how could he leave us? Me? CJ? CJ’s only four, and I can’t do it alone? And you’re right about all of it. I shouldn’t have left you, I shouldn’t have left CJ. I should have stayed, but you forget one thing, my dearest Harriet. You are strong, smart, and capable of doing this on your own.

When I met that autumn underneath that oak tree that faces North when the leaves change color, you know which one. You wore a beautiful dress two inches above the knee; you had your hair pulled back in a bun and a daisy pinned to your hair. You sat underneath that tree reading “Forty Years Ago” by Thomas Gaspey, and you smiled. The curl of your lips sent me into a frenzy each time. I watched you from afar, talking up the courage to approach you. I’ll never forget that smile and our conversation that lasted hours. I saw a future with you and knew you’d be the one waiting for.

un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept

I counted to seven in French because seven is your favorite number. I counted to seven in French because seven is the mouth of July we said I do, and I counted to seven in French because it’s the number of times I said I loved you.

I hope we meet again someday.

I love you, Harriet, I love you CJ.

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