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.  

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