Typewriter

Ka-chik ka-chik ka-chik
The young private typed furiously, fingers jabbing,
Sweat pouring down his heavy brow,
Flowing down to his clean-shaven chin, dripping onto his trembling fingers.
Ka-chik ka-chik ka-chik
He flared his nostrils, inhaling damp, musty odours
Scanning eyes like a hawk’s, searching for errors like prey.
Satisfied to find none, he reached across his desk
He held a blurred photograph of a smiling young woman.
Ka-chik ka-chik ka-chik, schlip
He tugged the paper out, he signed the bottom with a fountain pen.
Murmured and whispered to his letter’s recipient.
Fingers folded over his lover’s image
He uttered a quick prayer; may his letter reach her before the end.
Sighing, breathing heavily, he folded the letter,
Slid it in an envelope.
With hesitation, he extinguished the single flickering candle keeping him company.

Darkness and fear settled over him like a choking blanket.