Ain't like the Movies

Rain pours down from the sky, the rough fabric of my clothing scratching heavily against my back.

It’s cold, wind whipping down along the trenches with irrepressible rage.

I crawl along at a fruitless pace; mud and grime slowing my every movement. I slip often, my nails caked with wet soil as I try to stabilise myself. It’s not working very well, as I find myself grappling with a piece of shrapnel to stop from sliding in the mud.

My pace halts for a second, as I find myself staring at another body.

It’s slumped over, facing away from me. I shake the shoulder that is closest to me. No response. I shake the body harder until my own arms are quivering from exhaustion.

The body topples over. The whites of his eyes are rolled upwards, his mouth open. The skin of his face is blistered and split open.

Todd.

I remember him.

He had proudly shown us a photograph of his wife and two sons. I remember their faces. They were all smiles. All pride and joy.

All dead.

Like Todd.

The sound of gunfire rings out overhead, and for a split second, my only thoughts are that I don't want to die in my own waste. I don't want to die without a fight.

I don't want to die.

My eyes fall shut tightly as I hear the cry of the opposing army.

“We’ve got ‘em!”

I can hear the cries of my own men. Shrieks of terror and agony splitting the air as they go down.

They hadn’t had time to fire their guns.

I couldn’t help them. All I could do was huddle up cowardly next to a dead body, praying that they wouldn’t find me next.