War
I miss home. The holidays, family, and work are all assets that I miss so much... and remembering that I may never see any of that again causes my gut to hurt. My feelings are physically blank, but that's because my mind is so deep in thought. The stentch in my nose of rotting flesh is still bad, and hard to ignore but aventually I found my way around it. The battlefield is littered with hundred of mutilated arms, legs, bodies, and animals caught in the crossfire. Food is rare, because the rations spread among each soldier is small and limited. The food we do gain is usually burnt toast or dried biscuits. Sometimes, I wish that I would just die. It seems so easy to just join the thousands dead. Even if I do make it through this war... Im not the same person I was when I entered. It makes me ponder what my family would think if I showed up in the condition I am in. Angry, tired, depresed, and even suicidal. Once the firing starts, it seems so distant. It takes me a moment to realize that the enemy opened fire on us, and with that I get my head off my thoughts. I adjust myself so my rifle is adjusted up against the trenches cold dirt walls and barbed wire. I spot the figure of an enemy soldier running in my sights. Easing in on him with my steady aim, my finger squeezes the trigger. The butt of my rifle smacks my shoulder as a loud pop joins in with the nauseating sound of the screaming, the dieing, the wounded, and gunfire. The figure of my enemy is gone, along with my care. My heart jumps at the sight of a croud of enemy inflantry division advancing in my position. Machine gun fire rattles all around, but barely stopping their advance. It went so slow, and fast when I stated realizing that our position was just overun by enemy soldiers who kept barreling into our lines... and the only thing left to do was play dead, our die which is not a choice I got choose. An enemy soldier jumped beside me, and started shouting as he drove his boyonette into be diaphram. The pain seemed cold, and I couldn't gain any air. My lungs throbbed each time my heart pounded. I fell back, and the boyonnette was removed. Blood stained my dirty grey uniform. The soldier drove his boyonette once again into my chest, scrapping my ribs. The man continued stabbing me untill he felt satisfied that I would not live with my wounds. He continued through our lines, as I coughed up blood. So unreal... but the pain has ceased to exist. The battlefield was cold, but not even my blood-soaked uniform is keeping me warm. I thougt to myself, this must be what it is like to die. The time passed slow, and I prayed for death. I was even considering grabbing a rifle and ending it myself, but I saw no weapon besides my own which lay trampled and broken... the pain began to fill my whole body. This night was my last, and it was hell.