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was tired. He hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep the whole night. Too many explosions. He had been sitting in mud for hours, and still was. Nobody who went up the trench came back. He was too scared to go. But lieutenant was ready to give the order. Lieutenant was going to send him to his death. The other soldiers were scared. At least he thought they were. Clutching their rifles, drenched in rain and mud. An injured soldier was being redressed under one of the makeshift bridges, the legs blown to pieces by mortar, crying, screaming hysterically. Good thing the rain drowned out the screaming, or they’d all be dead. The lieutenant yelled out the order. Everyone went up the trench. A grenade fell into the trench at the same moment. He tried to run out fast, but the ground flew up into his face. Pain erupted through his body.
A man stood at the opposite side. He was holding a gun. He shot the man. But the man didn’t move an inch. The man stood, no emotion. Then, suddenly, the man melted into a puddle of flesh. He didn’t know why this happened. But the room disappeared, and he sat on a stool in total black.
He remembered a wife he had back at home. She was pretty, by what he could recall. But he didn’t remember much. He was a father, he could remember that. He didn’t remember how old they were, how old he was. He forgot his name. What was it? He didn’t know. All he could think of was that ringing in his head. In his nonexistent ears.
The lieutenant came to visit one day. He was told that he was going to go back into combat. So he jumped out of his bed and picked up his rifle and all of the sudden…
He forgot why he was there.
Just a Puddle
The noises bothered him immensely. His ear had a horrible pain, and the noises only made it worse. He clutched it to try to calm down the pain, noises, but it didn't help. The noises didn't sound right; he heard various yowls, roars, moaning, all in some twisted tone. He lay in the bunker, protected barely by the dirt. His hand had blood on it. He wondered if it was from his ear. Was it bleeding? He felt again, and realized it was gone. He lost his ear. Childishly, he thought someone stole it." Who took my ear?" he
yelled, but it sounded more like a whisper. A man fell down beside him. "Did you take my ear?" asked he. The man didn't say anything. He had blood all over his face, so he didn't talk anymore to the man. He found a rifle in his hand. He peeked up from the dirt, raised his rifle, and fired. He heard a low gurgle, but he didn't know if he hit anyone. Another man dove in beside him, yelling garbled commands, upsetting his ear. He looked at him, and yelled franticly, pointing at air." I can't hear you!" said he. The man suddenly dove on him, and a big cloud of dirt flew over them. It passed over quickly, and as
soon as it passed, he lifted the man off of him. The man now had holes in his back, and was bleeding. His ear was really paining, and he gripped it tightly. He felt the blood oozing out. More explosions. Then another cloud went over, but this one was green, and he started coughing. He saw blood coming from his mouth, and he fell over. Everything went black.
He found himself in a bed. He looked up at the ceiling, to find there was none. He looked left and saw a row of other men lying on beds. He looked right, and saw a few more, and a door, with women rolling men in on more beds." Those guys look really tired. They must be sleeping in those beds." But some of the men were awake, screaming. His ear hurt a lot less. He felt it, and it felt really soft, like cloth. A woman walked up to him and told him not to touch it, so he stopped. Then he felt really tired himself, like the other men, and decided to take a nap.
A dream. Houses, all in a circle around him, crept closer, then were gone. Giant towers over him, casting one hell of a shadow. He did not like this. But soon they were replaced by people, shouting, he wanted them to go away, they crept closer, pulled out weapons, knives, guns swords axes leave me alone he cried but they crept closer cannons forks grenades and finally the worst gas in cans he grappled for his mask but hedidnthaveoneonhandandthegasburnedhimhewasmeltingjustapuddl
eoffleshandnownothingatall...
He awoke.Startled.Confused.Afraid.Looked.Around.The.Hospital.To
.Seek.Assistance.Saw.A.Nurse."Can.You.Please.Help.Me.Mi
ss.?."She.Ran.Toward.Him."Oh.Dear.Nurse.Harriet?He
.Doesn't.Look.Good.".He.Couldn't.Breath.Slower.Shocked.
Tried.For.Big.Gusp.Failed.Maintained.Slow.Pace.Breathing.A.N
urse.Tried.To.Give.Him.A.Big.Kiss.He.was suddenly. filled with. a breath. of fresh. air and. he felt better. but then she gave another. big kiss and. he could breath much easier, so much that he said" Thank you" and shook hands with the nurse. She was very pretty and he had an idea that he had blushed because she was smiling." It's just my job, young sir." He felt like a newborn, cold, but did not feel
like crying. He was stood up in his bed for awhile, and observed that still a steady supply of men were being brought in. A few nurses pushed his bed to another wall, so the other men had room. He lay down again, and tried to stretch a bit.
Death lurked around him. He could smell it. Strangely enough, he couldn't see any death, or hear any, only that smell of death. He opened his eyes. Waiting. Then sat up in his bed. People around him, all dead. Smelling dead, looking dead, sounding dead. Their parts were everywhere. Blood was all over the floor. He felt sick. Men were walking, over the dead. One came by him." You dead any?" One had a strange accent. He didn't know what country one was from." We'll have to fix that, now won't we?" One pulled out a pistol. "Have a fun time in hell, matey." One was suddenly shot; some of the wounded men ran out from a barricade of beds. One clutched his hand. The invaders quickly killed some of the wounded, they had rifles and equipment, the wounded had a pistol or two, and some rocks. He decided to run away. He rolled off his bed, and using cover crawled away from the battle. He giggled. Fooled those silly men. But as soon as he said this, he was caught, and they tied him up. He fainted.
In a room. It was empty. He sat in a chair. It was not very comfortable. He saw that he was tied to it. No getting away, he thought. The room was dark. He could barely see. A man walked in. He sat in what looked like a more comfortable chair. The man began to speak. He couldn't understand what he was saying. Going much too fast. The man stopped. Silence. The man began speaking again. He was not getting what the man said. The man stopped, sighed. He walked out of the room. Time passed. Then, gas came through the floor. He began having his dream again. The houses, tower, people, the... the GAS. It went all around him, invaded his lungs, scathed his body, he felt very hot, burning, MELTING. The chair was gone. He sat, lay on the floor, teh gsa making hmi unhppay, eh wsa deing, justa pdudle, jutsa puldde, cuolnd't feel hsi bdoy, no bydo, jtsua puddle, gsa all aruodn hmi,justa puddle....
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Spine Tingling! (Not from the Gas)
Posted May 19, 2008
When I started reading this I thought there must be a new surge in popularity for World War I because this is the second article we've had about it in a week. I admit, I was little skeptical at first. I thought 'oh boy, here comes another cliche war story again!' But I was wrong, dead wrong, m... (
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