A Letter Home

Sam fumbled his pockets for a pen, finally finding a scrap of paper to write on. His fingers found the familiar plastic in his pocket as his eyes darted around quickly and then to his hand. He took a deep breath, his mind racing about what he would write about. He looked up at the bright blue sky, a sky that was even bluer than the sky that he knew. There wasn't a cloud in sight. Sam's empty hand found the paper and the tin he would put it in once he finished writing. His legs curled beneath him and he pressed the crinkled thick paper on his leg to write. His hand shook as he struggled within himself to remain calm.

My name is Samuel Benson. I am writing this in the year 1846. I am not from this year.

His hand was shaking still, his mind suddenly drawing a blank. He couldn't think of what to write. He scribbled out the last sentence and took another long breath, putting his pen back to the paper.

I am not from this year. I was transported back in time. I am from the year 2012, which is where I got this pen that I'm writing with. 

Sam scratched out the last part again. The tip of his pen made circles above the paper as he adjusted and readjusted himself to write. 

I am in the beginning of what is to be known as the Mexican-American War. I know we will win Santa-Anna, because that's how it is supposed to play out in history. I hope to keep history the same. I write this letter to those who will read it later, just in case I mess everything up. This war is supposed to last a year and a half, in which America will gain Texas. I've met Ulysses S. Grant, a man who is a junior officer here, where he will become a Senior Officer in the United States Civil War, which is to come soon after this. Grant moves on to become President of the United States. If none of this has come true, then I am sorry. I promise to do my best to keep history the way it's supposed to be. I have a sister here, Natalie Benson. I'm still trying to find her, and I guess that's why I'm here.

Sam leaned backwards to stretch out his back and take a look around. He was seated in the back of one of the buildings, near the horses. There were various tears in his outfit, including a torn medal from his overcoat. Sam gently put down the paper on the ground and reached for his medal. The fabric was torn, revealing the cardboard card underneath. The metal medallion was tucked into his pocket, torn from the ribbons. He took off the medal and placed it next to the paper, putting the metal on top of it. He picked up the piece of paper and folded it up neatly, careful to press it into the metal tin. He then took the medal and the medallion and placed those on top of the paper. Sam closed the tin, running his thumb across the metal, feeling it for one last time. 

Sam looked down beside him, and then back up in front of him. A horse was reigned nearby and for a moment, his gaze was lost in the rippling muscle of the horse's body. Sam shook his head and began to dig into the dirt  to make a hole. He put the tin inside the hole, and proceeded to cover it back up. He kicked around excess dirt so that no one would be tempted to dig up what he had buried. Shoving his hands in his pockets, Sam slowly began to walk away, looking up at the blue sky, wondering if he would ever be home again.