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Last moments in the trenches

Miscellaneous By: Pohikle
War and military

11/11/11- At school, we were doing a few minutes of silence as happens every year, and my music teacher appears outside and plays 'Last Post'. It was, to be blunt, one of the most moving moments I can remember. I got home and remembered I had just made an account on this site, and I wrote this. I hope it isn't too generic, I have next to no experience with this site so I don't know if every November people write about rememberance. Still, It seems like something I had to do.

Submitted:Nov 11, 2011    Reads: 56    Comments: 2    Likes: 2   

Only five minutes left. The men were pale faced, scared but trying not to show it, with wide eyes and closed mouths. One man looks near to vomiting, and keeps shaking and shivering, his face tinged green. The men tuck letters into their pockets, and grasp lucky charms shaped like crosses and angels Some troops fiddle with their rifles, checking repeatedly the trigger or hammer. Family photographs, muddy and wet, are the single focal point of many eyes. Four minutes left. The eerie silence is broken by the rustling from fidgeting soldiers' uniforms. Men breathe heavily, and sneeze and cough from colds spread by the lack of space. When the troops go quiet, you can hear the enemy in the opposite trench. The horses nearby whinny and pound their hooves, the terror obvious in their tones. A lazy fly buzzes over, oblivious to the petrified troops. Three minutes left. The battlefield reeks of gunpowder, and it gives the air a musty, unclean house feeling. Rotting flesh is so prominent in your nostrils, the stench of decay seems to fill your mind. The men are unclean, and the dirt mixed with sweat makes one of the most putrid odours Imaginable. Sewage is piled away from the trench, and the smell is a disgusting contrast to explosives. The food is so rotten that the smell seems to come off in waves of green mist. Two minutes left. The pain in the head hits you like a brick, as no fresh water or sleep makes the ultimate migraine. Feet are rotting in the soldiers' boots, as the cold and the germ infested water gets to them. Cuts and bruises cover the body, from barbed wire scratched to lumps on the head from falling debris. The straps of the backpacks digs in from all the weight, causing discomfort all over the neck and back. The pressure from your body weight on your rotting feet causes agony, like thousands of needles. One minute left. Thoughts of loved ones flash through the mens' minds. The fear has risen, and more men look close to collapsing. Some people begin saying goodbye to friends, and trying not to cry. The men at the front lean on the walls, unable to face the reality of it all. A sudden peace descends in the last few seconds. The signal is finally given. The men rise from the trench, and advance out towards the enemy.


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