The year was 1915, the smoke had just clear after a fresh grenade that had exploded. Dust partials were swarming, blocking our view of the enemy. Bullets whizzed past, barely skimming our heads, the trenches weren’t big enough and were in desperate need of expansion as soldiers filled the trenches to the brim. Ammo was low and we were left waiting for a resupply. It was hell. The weight from my helmet kept my head down low. The sergeants were getting together, planning a rush. One of them came up to me yelling and screaming, “We’re about to rush, get ready”. I look one last look at the photo of my family and prepared for the worst. “On my count” The sergeant screamed, “1!... 2!... 3!”. We jumped up and ran towards the enemy, clutching our guns, prepared to die. I sprinted and dived behind a tank barricade and I saw one of my friends get shot down by a hurling chunk of led. As the bullet penetrated my friend’s body I was infuriated with rage and began shooting carelessly towards the enemy. One of them tumbled to the side shouting out in pain and agony as my bullet collided with his upper thigh. Seconds pasted as minutes, minutes pasted as hours and I was still pinned down. The screams and shouts dulled and my army abandoned me. Waving a white flag they cowardly retreated from the intense battle. I was still there, In the middle of the battlefield, lying down along with fallen friends and allies. My team had left me to be captured.
I drowsily opened my eyes to hear my maths teacher screaming my name. I was probably in trouble for day dreaming in class, again. So I blurted out some words that might have made sense in a mental hospital. The fumes of smoke roll up my nose and I cough heavily, exhaling the charred, blackened air. As I continue to open my eyes they were suddenly singed by the burning ash, the room was painted with flames. As it’s contorted yellowy colour filled the room it produced exothermic heat causing me to sweat. My head cranked towards where the door was built to see nothing but flames outside it. My teacher was perched on the windowsill prepared to jump and was urging me to jump with her. Below lies an inflatable cushion splashed with bright colours. I took the leaf of faith. I was gliding through the air like baby bird attempting to fly for the first time as I plummeted towards the ground approaching the speed of light. I was almost on top of the inflated plastic pad. I curled up into a ball, hugging my knees as hard as I could, as I prepared for impact. As I landed on the cushion it compressed the air pushing it though the outlet with such supreme force it knocked over several of the teachers.
I stood back as I watched my gracious school burn in a life-threatening inferno. The horror arose in my brain as I saw the school that I hated so much yet loved with all my heart be engulfed in flames and smoke. I observed as the ‘great hall’ collapsed upon itself as it imploded with an explosion of dust coloured in flames. The distant praises of the students was a consistent reminder of the money and effort that I have put into this school.