January 25, 1916
The frozen, muddy trench walls feel as if they are closing in on me. The roar of guns masks the muffled screams of men dropping to the cold, hard ground. Every so often a stray bullet flies over the top of the sandbags and an unlucky soldier that dares to stand up will join the already dead ones on the trench floor. I’ve tried to dig out a small cave on the side of the walls to act as a bunk, but it’s turned out as more of a groove in the wall that just looks like a small explosion went off where I’d spent most of the day digging. A shiver runs down my spine. I think that John Parker, the soldier sleeping next to me, may have died from his bullet wound. Already most of of our men have died, yet it’s only our first day at war. I wonder how much longer I have to live. I know that every moment is a moment closer to getting out of this trench. But it’s also a moment closer to my potential death. I’d better make it last, but how can you make the most of living in a trench?
The frozen, muddy trench walls feel as if they are closing in on me. The roar of guns masks the muffled screams of men dropping to the cold, hard ground. Every so often a stray bullet flies over the top of the sandbags and an unlucky soldier that dares to stand up will join the already dead ones on the trench floor. I’ve tried to dig out a small cave on the side of the walls to act as a bunk, but it’s turned out as more of a groove in the wall that just looks like a small explosion went off where I’d spent most of the day digging. A shiver runs down my spine. I think that John Parker, the soldier sleeping next to me, may have died from his bullet wound. Already most of of our men have died, yet it’s only our first day at war. I wonder how much longer I have to live. I know that every moment is a moment closer to getting out of this trench. But it’s also a moment closer to my potential death. I’d better make it last, but how can you make the most of living in a trench?