Dearest Madeline,

It’s been three weeks since I arrived on the Western Front. Every moment is its own self-contained war, full of pain and destruction. The cold and gruesome battlefield is entirely devoid of humanity. But though my existence has been reduced to fear and anguish, it is my love for you, sweet Madeline, that allows me to carry on. If not for the thought of one day returning to your side, I daresay my pitiful life would not be worth living.

With love,

Your Jack

Dearest Madeline,

It’s been almost a month and I’ve yet to receive your reply to my letter. Mail is indeed slow here, but by some strange circumstance, all of my comrades have received letters from loved ones back home. Even that pathetic loser Bernard received a letter from his gal.

The long anticipation of your letter will only make its arrival that much grander.

With love and affection,

Your Jack

P.S. I’ve enclosed a very special, very intimate photograph of a certain part of my body for your eyes only. I worked very hard on it. In fact, it took a full hour for my pal Richard to get the shot just right.

Dearest Madeline,

It’s been four months and I’ve yet to receive any mail from you. I’m beginning to worry I’ve fallen out of your favor. Just kidding, of course. I know our eternal love can endure a few short months apart. After all, we were able to endure when I found out you made love to our history teacher, Monsieur Lacazette. A minor bump in the road as you would so wisely say.

I anxiously await your reply.

Your Jack

Dearest Madeline,

The fighting has really picked up here. My comrade Louis was stabbed nine times by a German bayonet. I was right by his side as he slipped away into the beyond. He told me that his only consolation in dying was that he’d be buried alongside the dozens of letters his girl Margot had sent him. I read some of Margot’s letters and boy does she sound swell.

It makes me ache for you, sweet Madeline.

Your Jack

Dearest Madeline,

Tonight in the trenches we held an open mic night where all the boys took turns reading the letters from their girlfriends. Some of them were quite carnal. As a bunch of sexually frustrated 18-year-olds, we decided to designate a corner of the trench for us to relieve ourselves. Gustave probably took three or four trips to the corner, that dog.

I was spared the embarrassment of having to explain why I didn’t have any letters from you when a bomb took out half our platoon. Talk about good fortune!

With love and extreme worry you’ve gotten back with Monsieur Lacazette,

Your Jack

P.S. I’m too sad to write a P.S.

Dearest Madeline,

I’ve been taken prisoner by the Germans. I’m tortured constantly for information, yet I have no secrets to provide. All I’ve eaten in the last week was a stew comprised of beans, mud, and German feces.

Despite their sadism, the one freedom my captors allow is to send and receive mail. Apparently they have a soft spot for long-distance relationships. Merely to know you’re thinking of me would do wonders for my sanity. I’ve developed this weird mental tic where I sob uncontrollably and wildly call out your name for hours at a time. It’s getting so annoying even my captors wish you’d write me.

With love and great mental confusion,

Your Fred

Bonjour Jack,

Monsieur Lacazette here. How’s it hanging in your prisoner of war camp? I’ve never been to one, but I’m sure it’s fascinating.

Please don’t worry about what’s going on between Madeline and myself. I can assure you that what we have is the furthest thing from a love connection. In fact, our relationship is purely sexual.

As you know, Madeline was never the best student. As her teacherlover, I was concerned with how she would make out in the working world. Let me put those fears to rest. Our Madeline is finding great success in her new job at the post office!

Wishing you a pleasant trip. Be sure to bring me back a souvenir!

Monsieur Lacazette

Guten Tag Madeline,

My name is Sergeant Jurgen Von Brommel. We recently held your former lover Jack as our prisoner of war. I regret to inform you that Jack has died. We’re unsure if it was starvation, disease, or the bullet to the brain that killed him, but one thing is certain: the man really loved you.

Seeing someone so thoroughly consumed with passion tells me you must be a truly remarkable woman. And so—in honor of the departed Jack—wanna go out sometime?

Sergeant Von Brommel

Dear Sergeant Von Brommel,

I’m free Thursday.

Maddie