A soldier has many brothers, not all of them carry the same last name. A young private sits on the edge of his cot in the sweltering heat of Afghanistan. Being stationed in the Kandahar province means that pretty much everyone fights; the private named Jones knows this… he also knows the chances of greeting the shadow that has greeted so many of his brothers. Death is who Jones fears greeting, everyone knows what death looks like he is a tall slender man clad in robes that shame the darkest of midnights, faceless and ever cold. Death wields a cloud of black, black smoke that smells of decay and sounds of the last breath of so many.

Before Jones got to Afghanistan, he was nineteen, stocky in his build, and before the Army cut it off brown haired with eyes like an emerald that gleamed in the light. He wrote his will before he left his home; he left everything to his family and his girlfriend. Sleeping on the C5 flying over the oceans he did not have time to write the letter that every family never wants to read… the death letters in case he should fall in combat.
Jones was never very tan, but the heartless hell sands of Afghanistan would make him very tan.
Reporting to Staff Sergeant Fitz for barracks assignments Jones strides to the angry sergeant, who is wearing nothing but a pair of shorts made from old jeans his boots and his rifle. The hot sun bakes Private Jones’ mind as he waits for his assignment. “Jones barracks two Echo, get moving son… oh and welcome to Afghanistan.” The sand flicks away from his boot as each one falls, like flies from a horse’s tail as Jones strides to his barracks. Upon finding his new home, barracks two echo to discover that it was a simple green ish tent with two rows of cots one on either side. The walls were colorful adorned with the banners and flags of his unit it was tasteful but it was no home. Setting up his cot which is a simple task takes but a few seconds; he sits down on the cot and begins to write the letters that no parent should ever have to read. ‘Dear mom and dad, if you’re reading this then sadly I’m dead. I know this is hard but I’m still alive in your memories… I’m sorry I should have listened however you can’t change the past. I have to go but there is an audio recording of my voice on the disk for my final goodbye. I love you all, your son Harold S. Jones.” Shortly after finishing, Jones felt his stomach churn and he couldn’t help but think that he would die before giving someone the letter so he decided to stroll the base. On his stroll he met a man in the Navy, a commander who was boasting about how a UH-60 was going to fly him back to his ship tomorrow and he would be going back state side. Jones having this feeling walked up to the commander saluted him and asked for this commander to take his death letter. Commander Bailey refused and refused then after about an hour of begging him to take it, the commander reluctantly agrees. “I’ll bring it back to you when you rotate back to the world.” Relief hits Jones like a punch; all he can do now is thank the commander and go about his business. A month had passed, the commander was striding on the deck of his ship; sipping his black and over brewed coffee. Gazing out to the calm of the sea wondering about life, and the young morbidly fearful soldier named Jones; A voice cracks over the ship’s PA system calling commander Bailey to a corpsman for some reason. Asking the corpsman what he needed, grave news was delivered to the commander… private first class Harold S. Jones was killed by an I.E.D while on patrol. Bailey had been in war for a long time, he had to many men die, and friends not come home, but this was the first that had given him the death letter.
Bound by his word Commander Bailey will give the family this horrific news. While the ship was pulling into port bailey orders a car to be made ready from the motor pool on the base. The car was a small Ford that was blue and had the Navy’s logo on the side of the door, it also a GPS. He punched in Jones’ address and begins his journey. Several hours later the small ford pulls into a driveway marked with a Jones on a red, white, and blue mailbox. As the ford comes to a stop, he gets out of the car and slowly walks to the door admiring the beauty of this place with the red leaves of the trees swaying from side to side and the birds signing a song to match the wind. The door opens holding the figure of a female version of Jones.
Being the bearer of bad news never suited Bailey. Upon hearing the news and reading the letter this frail woman collapse and tears flow from her eyes. Bailey is forced to turn and leave “I’m so sorry for your loss.” This mother couldn’t take the stress and her mind snapped under the pressure, she went insane, from the sheer denial that her son is dead. Now all she wants is M&M’s… her son’s favorite. Only so much can be done with memories and letters written long ago.