The building was crowded with people- short, tall, thin, fat- all standing around one of the generals. The room was silent except for his booming voice, “You brave souls have chosen to risk your lives for this country. You should be proud!! Your generous sacrifice will lead to a better future for all-” I stopped paying attention to what he was saying and decided to look for Pete. A lot of the men had short brown hair with clean shaved sides so it was hard to tell where he was. Then I remember he always wears a beige shirt.
There he was, at the back standing by himself. “Pete,” he looks around confused and lands on me. “Do I know you?” then I realised he mustn’t recognise me because my hair was gone. “It’s me,” I start whispering, “Lara,” his eyes were wide and I could tell he was scared. “What are you doing?!” I smile at him, “Fighting for my country,”
The trip was long and boring. Pete and I talked for the whole trip, about going to France, about how surreal this experience was, and about what we’d do when we got there. “I think I’m going to meet everyone, make some friends,” I said. Pete smiled, “I think I might help out, find a nice spot to sleep,” After a long few days we arrived. The ground was brown and absolutely covered with dirt. There was a muffled background noise that I could not place and there were no birds to be seen.
We travelled by foot for a few hours until we reached the trench. Gunshots ripped through the sky, people ran and there was a chaotic feeling about the whole place. “Is it just me-” I started saying.
“This is definitely not like how they advertised it,” Pete finished for me.
“Get in and find a space,” an authority figure said.
I walked in and plopped my bag next to Pete, and a man came up to us.
“Take this,” he handed both of us wide guns,”When you're ready go to the front line and shoot.”
We looked at him confused and concerned.
“Look, I know it’s hard but you’ll get used to it,” He gave us a sad smile.
The guns were heavy, and I was scared out of my mind. The bullets are still ripping through the air and I constantly fear getting hit. The sun was lowering and men started to disappear and go into their trenches. Pete and I sat next to each other not focusing on the battle. We looked at the battlefield, the chaotic disaster we signed up for, and sighed in unison. The sun was officially down, and the moon was glowing, a full moon. The sound slowly faded into the background and we fell asleep.
The bullets woke me up instantly. For a minute I thought I was back in England, although I didn’t have a home it was so much better than here. I hear somebody scream as a bullet flies into them, and I try not to look. Too much blood. There’s already a rank smell around the trench, the smell of people not being bathed and the smell of people who have died. I grab a book out of my bag and find a nice spot to sit. The area isn’t very comfortable and it’s definitely not quiet but it’s good enough.
The book I packed is called ‘Faren’s guide to Europe’ . I picked it up from an old donation bin a few weeks ago, but the quality is still amazing and the cover is barely scratched. I’ve always wanted to write a book. “What are you reading?” A man says he has slick blond hair and a neatly shaved face. “Nothing much,” I say nonchalantly. He smiles “My names John, I haven’t seen you around before,” It’s hard not to smile, “I’m Lar- Laro,”. I can’t believe I keep forgetting. For the next hour or so we talked about books, although it was hard to concentrate with the forever lasting gun shots.
“Nice meeting you,” he says and walks to the front line. “See you around!”
Tears stream down my face. The kind stranger I had just met is gone. I watched as he got shot and I immediately cried for help, but he couldn’t be saved. Now I watch as they take his body away and Pete tries to comfort me, but how can you be comforted when an innocent person just died? I imagine his family back home, the kids he never gets to hug again. The friends he never gets to celebrate with. The family he took for granted, and I suddenly need air.
“I need a minute,”.
The next day everything went back to how it was. Screaming, yelling, bullets, crying, and running filled my ears. Now I just want to kill. These dirty, horrible, people killed my friend, and they will suffer, but for now I rest. I lay in a corner. I’ve isolated myself for the past 24 hours, just sitting here, staring at nothing. Doing nothing. Saying nothing. When people come to check if I’m okay I don’t react, as if they’re not there. I don’t know why I’m so upset about this but I know I should trust my gut, and my gut says the people shooting on the other side are horrible. I should fight back.
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