I hope you enjoyed the silence, little book. It has been nearly 40 hours since I last wrote in you. Since yesterday morning. I cannot tell you how glad I am that I did not, in fact, transcribe the dream from that night. The idea makes my skin crawl, and I believe Ashcroft would’ve been enthused at the prospect to say the least. I’d like to leave it in the past.

It was gloomy today. The clouds descended on the Aisne like a blanket, terrifying our commanding officers. Had the Germans made their move this morning I feel certain I would not be sitting here writing to you. It is for this reason and this reason alone that I have to confirm my last opinion on the matter, that the Germans are as scared and as hunkered down as us. To bring either of us out of these trenches and across that river would take a miracle. I’m sure the French command would say as much. I’d like to think the rest of my companymen are thinking the same things I am writing, but really I have no way to tell, and as I sit here calling into question the motivations of the French command I begin to doubt I’ll hear anything of the sort any time soon. How many men are still here because they are simply unable to muster the courage to be cowards? No, I don’t think I’ll hear anything of it.

I feel let down. I truly believe in the defense of my country, in the protection of my people, but every day I suspect more and more that my comrades do not feel the same. Somehow this is some kind of game to them, as if my effort, the time I have spent toward our common goal, is all a fool’s errand. I feel they do not respect the loyalty I have to something beyond myself, and more so I fear they are incapable of it. I pity them. How fruitless a life is this, that which has no purpose beyond the day to day amusement? Is the world not forged by men and women who find something to struggle for? To suffer for? There is nothing more frustrating than seeing my fellow soldiers on the watch tiredly grimace at me, as if my example is an insult to their willpower. Maybe if they’d allow themselves to feel the pain of dedication they would follow me. Nothing remarkable ever came of apathy, of a lack of care or attention. There is not one man alive who can point to my earthly achievement and say “If I keep on doing nothing, soon I’ll be left with something like that!” If such a man did exist, he would be the greatest fool of them all. The father of all fools. I am tired. I will take my rest now, and I have no doubt I have earned it. I have built my life around that.