The Star Stamp Under Cold Stones

A cold wind carrying the scent of winter sweeps through the mountain pass. Hurrying toward Haruna Village, I spotted a grey coat in the gap of a rockslide. Half-buried under earth and stone was an enemy soldier. He was already cold, and it seemed no one had tried to dig him out.

I searched his pocket and found a single letter. A faded wax seal, a mud-stained address. And there, stamped in the corner, was the mark of that unit. The same star-shaped engraving as the cold brass tag resting at the bottom of my bag. My fingertips trembled slightly, of their own accord. Was this man near my brother when he wrote this? All that exists before me is a single, unopened letter.

Tonight, inside my small tent, I whispered the names of the forty-three people I have delivered to into the dark, just as I always do. "...Rudy, Emma, Hans, ...Noya..." The name slipped out, and I bit my lip, startled by my own voice. I have not delivered them yet. Neither this letter, nor the tag at the bottom of my bag. The wax on the envelope is worn smooth at the edges from rubbing against his coat.