It started out unexpectedly. The storm racing across the battlefield. The crash of thunder filled the atmosphere with rage. Fog spurred over the plains. The landscape ahead invisible to the naked eye. The sky was engulfed with hopes and prayers of the soldiers that inhabited the wasteland below. Rain fell like pellets soaking everything it could reach. My clothes hung limply off my body, dripping with the water that was flowing from the grey stained sky. The mud that was once hard turned into slush in seconds and splashed everything as I attempted to navigate my way through the trench only using the few metres that I could see in front of me. The sounds of battle cries pierced through the fog, along with the explosions of guns firing bullets
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I would give anything to see her, to hear her voice just one last time, to tell her I loved her and that I was sorry for leaving. I felt so brave when I left New Zealand, a soldier fighting for his country, for the greater good, but now I felt like a coward. I was scared all the time, I had nightmares whenever I slept, waking up just as a bullet hit me, tearing through my skin like it was made of paper. Red had stained the countryside, along with the limbs from soldiers that had been blasted off by explosives. These sights made me sick, the queasy feeling I had learned to live with due to the lack of food often grew worse, making me double up in pain, the bully beef and biscuits they served were nothing compared to my mother's homemade stew and bread. Thinking about this made me miss home even more and I pushed the thought out of my mind. I reached my resting place for the night and sighed as I sat down. I closed my eyes and wished yet again I was back at home, in warm familiar surroundings, but to my disappointment when I opened them again I was still in the freezing, damp trench. The cold reminded me of the winters we had back home, the temperature would often drop below freezing, sometimes snow would fall and I would spend hours playing outside, I loved the look of the countryside during those times. It was if a blanket had
I would give anything to see her, to hear her voice just one last time, to tell her I loved her and that I was sorry for leaving. I felt so brave when I left New Zealand, a soldier fighting for his country, for the greater good, but now I felt like a coward. I was scared all the time, I had nightmares whenever I slept, waking up just as a bullet hit me, tearing through my skin like it was made of paper. Red had stained the countryside, along with the limbs from soldiers that had been blasted off by explosives. These sights made me sick, the queasy feeling I had learned to live with due to the lack of food often grew worse, making me double up in pain, the bully beef and biscuits they served were nothing compared to my mother's homemade stew and bread. Thinking about this made me miss home even more and I pushed the thought out of my mind. I reached my resting place for the night and sighed as I sat down. I closed my eyes and wished yet again I was back at home, in warm familiar surroundings, but to my disappointment when I opened them again I was still in the freezing, damp trench. The cold reminded me of the winters we had back home, the temperature would often drop below freezing, sometimes snow would fall and I would spend hours playing outside, I loved the look of the countryside during those times. It was if a blanket had