Jack looks like he's  plotting a murder in the sinister light of the night.

"Harry... Nah, man. I'll just call you Haz."

Harold sits on one of the swings, gaping at Jack. His childish expression is quite like Josh looking 'normal'. And the swings and the park just add on.

A wave of nostalgia crashes over me, the image of me, Jack and Josh somehow being all that I could see.

After a few minutes, Harold shuts his mouth and then opens it again, and says, "Well I prefer Harry... That's what everyone calls me."

"Well, we're not 'everyone'," Jack points out, matter-of-factly. "Plus, it's cooler," he adds.

"Yeah, I mean, I guess... but..."

"And it sounds more like 'Josh'..." Jack muttered, not really intending to be audible.

Harold's eyes widen and he shakes his head rapidly.

What's wrong?

"You guys should seriously stop. I'm not Josh. I mean, I'm sure he's probably a nice person for you to be bringing him up this often, but..."

"Was. He died in the war," I let him know.

"Oh..." is all he says.

"I'm sorry," he adds, after a short pause. Harold, Harry, Haz- whatever his name shall be, looked down at his hands. They were entwined together in a tight grip.

"It's alright," Jack says. He still looks glum and it's everything but alright.

"Well, you're alive!" Harry says, trying to lighten the mood. He frees his hands and makes jazz hands.

"Yeah, barely. So are you," Jack retorts.

All three of us laugh lightly.

"Hey, on a way more serious note, don't expect me to be just like your friend. I mean; I mean, I may not be as cool as him and..."

"Look, we expect nothing," Jack interrupts. "We're just glad we found you. And you naturally look and act a lot like Josh."

But I get this nice feeling that he'll be better than Josh. Josh wasn't this nice when we first met him...

Harry's clearly embarrassed, but doesn't show it. "So... tell me about this Josh." he finally says.

A yawn escapes me and Jack stretches. "It's gonna be a long tale," he says.

"Don't worry Peters, I'm in for the long ride," Harry says. He's already exceeding expectations.

"Well, Will and I first met Josh Daniels when we were thirteen. Rude new schoolkids were never really our thing but..."

I was right. Harry is not a lot like Josh. But it's in a good way.

Where Josh was a proud person, Harry was full of humility. Where Josh would probably get angry, Harry would smile off an issue. Wherever Josh was good, Harry was just better.

Newspaper service has been restored. So I pick up and unroll today's copy. The first page has a huge picture of our new President, a woman who looks about thirty. Her skin is a sandy brown and her eyes are a dull grey. They seem to be shining... with intelligence, and a little bit of... cunning?

Whatever. It's not like this god forsaken country deserves better. Nor does it matter.

The next page has more pictures to show the newly appointed mayors at damaged provinces. I manage to spot our town's reedy Mayor. His rat-like face and features ignites some amount of humour in me.

Once I'm done with 'knowing what's going on', as Jack would put it, I pick up a pen and a sheet of paper.

Hoping no one's around, I go ahead and detox my mind.

"Hey Ed,

I'm sorry I keep spamming you with letters almost everyday. I just like letting you know what's going on, rather than some random person who'd probably stumble into my journal years later. Or I could get these buried with me... then bring them to you...

In case you didn't already figure, we have a new President. She looks smart, intelligent almost, and would probably help improve our country's state.

The war certainly hit us hard, though. We've all reverted back to letters and calls. Newspaper service just got restored, so...

I gotta go meet-up with Jack and Haz at the bar. You know, watch one of the three TV sets in town to get 'updates', hang out, watch out for an enemy attack... find a purpose in life.

Oh, big news! Turns out, Dr.Anne is Harry's sister. Explains the hospital situation. And Harry's natural charm. And how they both are inhumanly beautiful...

And now I'm running late, I better get going. I'll write tomorrow, I promise.

Love,

Will."

There. I'm done. I fold the sheet and put it along with the rest of the letters I've written. In a box with my journal in it.

I'm glad I've kept this up. It's become one of my new and entertaining habits. And a way to vent out my feelings.

I get out of the house and lock it.

I've heard that war drains out all the life of a country. People, wealth, hope...

I guess that's why those who are alive are 'survivors'.

But Harry...

He was overseas during the war and was going to come back. But his parents didn't let him. Until one day, they died. So Harry came back for Anne, to take her to wherever he came from. But she wouldn't leave town. So he decided to stay.

Must be nice being a good brother.

In short, Harry's arrival, however, restored hope in not only Anne's heart.

It seemed to add purpose to mine and Jack's life. It seemed like god wanted us to meet Harry.

So now, with a newfound skip in my step, I walk towards the bar. Towards what has come to become a part of my life. Towards my purpose.

I guess this is rebirth...