My dearest family,
Shall I not return, I would like you to have my last words, my last thoughts, and to know what it is really like here. The press seems to glorify things, to inspire men I presume. Our unit arrived to the front 5 weeks ago, yet life is already a living hell. When we arrived, it was pouring rain, and the men and I were knee deep in a brown pool of water, muck and other things I care not to think of. The air reeks of decay and waste, corpses are everywhere; of men, cows, and rats. Artillery echoes in the distance, a further part of the trench must be being shelled. The nights are long and sleepless, filled with repairing barbed wire, scouting the area between us and the enemy which we call no man 's land, and just doing general repairs. Any effort of sleeping is during the day, yet I cannot seem to fall out of consciousness, any sounds jerks me awake, and I live in constant paranoia of my dugout collapsing. Many men are sickly; constantly hacking away and …show more content…
Whether more will come, I cannot say. A middle aged blonde haired, blue eyed soldier ran up to me in an attempt to attack me, before he could I slit his throat with a spade. The enemy got nothing from their attack, only death. A successful defensive attempt by the Canadians. Although for me, this was not as victorious, another soldier slashed my calf, shortly before one of our men stabbed him in the back. The battle field is covered in crumpled men, and as the sun is rising, they are filling with gas, and turning blue. Many corpse look frozen in time; sitting bodies, kneeling bodies, but most lay on their backs or stomachs. We can do nothing but leave them to the rats, or to rot into the soil, eventually becoming a part of the land. Birds fly high above, scouting out their next meal, and I sit in a dugout, with my leg bandaged up tightly, waiting for a medical crew to take me out and to a
Shall I not return, I would like you to have my last words, my last thoughts, and to know what it is really like here. The press seems to glorify things, to inspire men I presume. Our unit arrived to the front 5 weeks ago, yet life is already a living hell. When we arrived, it was pouring rain, and the men and I were knee deep in a brown pool of water, muck and other things I care not to think of. The air reeks of decay and waste, corpses are everywhere; of men, cows, and rats. Artillery echoes in the distance, a further part of the trench must be being shelled. The nights are long and sleepless, filled with repairing barbed wire, scouting the area between us and the enemy which we call no man 's land, and just doing general repairs. Any effort of sleeping is during the day, yet I cannot seem to fall out of consciousness, any sounds jerks me awake, and I live in constant paranoia of my dugout collapsing. Many men are sickly; constantly hacking away and …show more content…
Whether more will come, I cannot say. A middle aged blonde haired, blue eyed soldier ran up to me in an attempt to attack me, before he could I slit his throat with a spade. The enemy got nothing from their attack, only death. A successful defensive attempt by the Canadians. Although for me, this was not as victorious, another soldier slashed my calf, shortly before one of our men stabbed him in the back. The battle field is covered in crumpled men, and as the sun is rising, they are filling with gas, and turning blue. Many corpse look frozen in time; sitting bodies, kneeling bodies, but most lay on their backs or stomachs. We can do nothing but leave them to the rats, or to rot into the soil, eventually becoming a part of the land. Birds fly high above, scouting out their next meal, and I sit in a dugout, with my leg bandaged up tightly, waiting for a medical crew to take me out and to a