Wednesday, April 16, 2014
The Great War
The stench of decaying soilders lie before me in the grave of a hole. I see our trench it almost looks peaceful like I'm the only one in the world. An automatic killing machine breaks the horrible silence I duck as the bullets fly over my head. The killing machines plowing down the scared, panicking men left, right and center. My body clinches up I beg to myself not look up should I get court or should I just run. the mud seeps through my clothes as the sun falls from the sky as death catches up.