A Forest in Belgium

The bullets were hitting the edge of the trench, powerful rounds, solid, hard, fast, faster than anything each carrying enough energy to smash my body to pieces. They were close too close for comfort. A few yards away somebody in a trench was laughing. Voices, to the field of fire ahead and from the edge of a small wood. That meant they were all around. I was surrounded. They were walking up to each trench and firing at the person left in it. One man Trench. A few bullets per trench. They screamed for mercy and were finished off. Closer. They kicked me in the back of my helmet and my face hit the opposite wall of the trench, the pebbled clay and the soft splash of blood. My blood. Bastards had shot me, it felt like a kick. I cant see out of one eye. My hands will not move. Shot again, somewhere in the back the bullet hits my pelvis and rips through my insides exiting underneath my sternum. Shit. My hands will not grasp or move at all. They drag me from the trench, i cannot see them for the sick redness of the day but one of them prods me with a boot, i think my insides have fallen out and are stuck around my legs. The sun is red.

 

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s