Personal Narrative: A Letter From A Soldier

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Hallo, I am 22 year old Erich Heusinger of Brandenburg, Germany. I am Catholic and am moderately wealthy through affluent parents. I am currently fighting in the trenches of this great war. I enlisted with my classmates a few years after I finished high school, vying for the glory common to heroic tales of warfare. My older brother, Karl enlisted in the naval forces. My parents were against it, especially my mother. They wanted me to become a doctor like my father but I can attend medical school after the war. I have not seen any of them since.
The war seemed a prime opportunity for adventure, a chance for me to spend my youth acquiring heroic memories for future reminiscence. I imagined brilliant skills of shooting, digging, foraging, hunting, among others. Vivid visions of the war gleamed in my youthful mind; I could picture a valorous return welcomed by the beaming arms of family. It was going to be thrilling and all else could wait until I returned triumphant. However, my older comrades grimaces foreshadowed my future tribulations. I was extremely jubilant to become a hero of my country’s history, a naive outlook that dwindled rapidly. The tiresome trench combat quickly wore me down mentally, rendering me unable to conjure any thoughts of honor. The smoke and gas of the war suffocated my lungs, as well as my youthful aspirations of triumph. The war is harrowing and I have obtained memories I will never forget. Unfortunately, these same recollections are the ones I would give anything to abandon. Returning home seems like an inaccessible haven and once I return, I will likely be unable to find solace from this terrible war. August 18, 1914 Dear Karl, The food is awful. Those tinned contraptions are abominations. If it wasn’t for starvation I’d rather eat nothing than take a sip of that questionable meat stew. Of course, there are days without much food at all. My stomach whimpers and cries as I envision mother’s fresh rye bread. Karl, I didn’t think it would be this hard. Waking up at before dawn, my immense fatigue makes me feel older than Dad right now. I’m staying in one of the trenches in France right now. It is smelly, muddy, and unsanitary to say the least. However, daily life is not as eventful as expected. We usually shine our weapons and construct the trench throughout the day, stringing barbed wire and digging without rest. We don’t get much sleep and when we do it is only for an hour at a time. Surprisingly, nighttime is busiest. Only then are we safely able to venture into no man’s land without notice from the enemy. During breaks we usually play cards to pass the time and I join from time to time. Many are around my age and were convinced to join through classmates and teachers as I was. They are two men named Friedrich and Ansel that are especially agreeable. You’d like them as well. They’re extremely clever, especially Friedrich who is a mastermind at
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I still feel nauseous. My eyes are burning with acidic tears and my growling stomach has been emptied constantly. Even when I close my eyes, all I see is red. June 3, 1916
Dear Karl, I took a leave and am visiting mother and father. They were so happy to see me as their furious looks were betrayed by crooked smiles and glossy eyes. It is relaxing at home except for the fact that I couldn’t truly be rid of stress. Anyway, eventually I have to go back to the war. Even at home, that is all I can think about. Everyone at home is following the war extremely carefully, deeply analyzing any news they catch.
Remember our neighbor, Mrs. Berger who always gave us candies baked cakes for s whenever we helped her around her store. Her son Augustus died in the trenches of Western Belgium. I couldn’t meet her eyes when I saw her. She was probably desperately thinking why her son is gone. It’s not just him; several soldiers of our town have perished in the battles. I do not want to think about what this means for us. Coming home triumphant and celebrated seems like a futile dream now.
Pay mother and father a visit. At home your living presence is their savior.After all, we always wanted to be heroes.
November 21,

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