Pvt. Peter Andrews

Reads: 345  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 1

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: War and Military  |  House: Booksie Classic
Pvt. Peter Andrews is in Gallipoli, fighting against the Turks. After writing a letter to his mum, he wonders if he ever will come home.

Submitted: June 27, 2011

A A A | A A A

Submitted: June 27, 2011




The low rumble of bombs echoed in the distance. Sometimes, the sound of mud being stepped on was heard as another soldier ran past. I was left alone, in the trenches, to write a letter. Everyone thought that I was writing a letter to my girlfriend or wife, but then again, everyone thought I was over the age of 18.
Dear Mum
I'm going well over here! The Turkish do their best
to advance but we shoot at them and they run
I miss you! I'll be home soon. Real soon! As If a 14
yr. old boy like me can't take care of himself.
I love you.
Private Peter Andrews.
I stopped writing. I read through It several times frowning when I read the positive stuff. None of that shit was true. War wasn't positive. It's a shit fight and a half. I folded the letter to mum and put it in my pocket. My eyes travelled around the trench, looking for my diary. I hate the word 'diary'. It sounds so girly. I made a mental note not to write 'dear diary' when I found it to write in it. I stopped looking for a moment and listened. I frowned. It was way too quiet. Nothing was happening. I shook my head, deciding I was nothing and kept looking for my...book. I found it in my trunk. I got it out wiped the mud off it and wrote:
14th, April, 1914.
I wrote another letter To mum today. It was again
full of shit, but I would never hear the end of
it if it wasn't.
I wish I could tell her the truth.
I wish I could tell her the truth about this hell hole.
I wish I could tell her the truth about the casualties both sides
have endured.
I wish I could tell her the truth about these fucking flies!
If I don't get the hell out here I'm going to
go insane…
My soul is now tainted with lives of other men, one of these
might be my own.
I paused. There was one thing I wasn't going to mention even in this. My friends. How each of the died. Johnston Reid, blown to bits by a land min. Andrew Turner, looked over the trench on the first day. Chris Lee, committed suicide. I blinked back tears. There were more than that, but there was one that was the most vivid in my memory. Roger Burke, who died in arms yelling at me to kill him. Pleading that I end his life. I had the gun to his head, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. He died hating me. I growled at the Turkish. They had don this. It was their fault. I sprung to my feet, my boots splashing the mud up.
"I hope you fucking die!" I screamed. "I hope each of you, individually, die suffering like my friends suffered! I hope you all fucking die!"
I broke down crying.
"Why are we fighting?" I sobbed, wiping a tear from my eye. "Why are we fighting."
I stood up, walked to my gun and picked it up. I checked It was loaded and looked at the trench wall.
So this was how I was going to die? No. It can't be. I will not hand myself to Lucifer that easily. I will not kill myself. Lucifer will have to take me after tying harder.
Suddenly, a bomb exploded in the trench, throwing me out of it, into no-man's land. I landed in a hole a bomb had made. I was shielded from cover, for now. Bullets whistled and bombs exploded. There was no way I would be able to make it back to the trench without dying.
That was when I knew it. That was when I knew it was time for my life to end.
I was suddenly filled with bravery. I clenched my gun and pulled I towards me.
"Tell my mum I'm sorry!" I yelled at the men in the trench. Then I got out of my burrow and stood there, stationary.
The bullets whistled passed me as I stood, willing for one of them to hit me.
"Take me you fuckers!" I bellowed. "Take me!"
Suddenly , I felt a jot of pain in my stomach, followed by another few. All my strength left my body. I willed my legs to move but nothing happened. I dropped to my knees with a grunt. I felt so lightheaded and dizzy. I lost my balance and turned so that I was laying on my back. I looked down at my wound and touched it. I removed it from the wound and looked at my own warm, red blood and chuckled. I felt some more weakness and allowed my self to just lay, silently. The battle raged on, but my mind was at piece. When I had said to my mum that I wanted finish my life on the battle field, I wasn't serious, but now I didn't have a choice. I closed my eyes and let my conciseness slowly slip away, enjoying the sensation, of feeling nothing amidst everything. The feeling of death.

© Copyright 2019 KINGD0RK. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:




More War and Military Short Stories