Wendigoon

I couldn't make out what she was saying, but it wasn't hard to imagine.

Grand Uncle Steven contributed helpfully.

It wasn't a he, as a matter of fact, but other than that, the statement was accurate.

The camera was lifted, and after a couple of blurry focus adjustments, the shot was the same as before.

He lifted the piece of paper in his hand close to his face.

Chill ran down my spine.

Mom zoomed in to Great Uncle Steven and his letter.

His palsied hands trembled as he held up the paper.

This is what he read.

Dear Sir, I never loved my country.

So many of these skirmishes are born from patriotism, a power struggle for the shards of a once great empire, but I do not care what name my home has on a map.

This fighting is senseless and I stay as far away from it as I can.

It was not these attacks and disorganized violence that took the lives of my wife and child.

It was illness.

Mercifully, it happened quickly for the baby.

Naja suffered for longer.

I watched in horror knowing I could do nothing for them.

My only solace is that I was there for them every step of the way.

I stopped going to work one day and no one came after me.

I doubt they noticed I was gone.