Guns fired. Too loud. To close. Too accurate. A yell nearby told me another had died. Soliders fell around around me. I keep pushing forwards....BANG!
I guess you want to know where I am, what I am doing, What's happening. So do I, and I'm ment to be the one telling the story!
It all started when I was 14. You have to be 16 to get in the army but I looked older than I was. My parents were poor, still are, probably. So I decided to get a job, as a macanic, the army said they wanted so one like me. I fitted the place perfectly.
So I joined. My firing test I could hit 95% of my targets. so I was to a front line solider' I hated it. Mud, water and continual explosions all aroung were a bit to much for me. the amount of soilders I saw, just walking around the trenches, with a missing arm or leg and staving. the sight was neough to make me cry at night, let alone sleep.
All the others in squad quickly realised I was younger and treated me like a baby. i wasnt important to the army. i was just another solider who was going to die, uniportant, dead.
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