Blood. Gore. Life.Mature

I wrote this short story for a history homework.
Hope you enjoy it.

21st of February 1916, the time was 7:10 AM. All was calm, but then the bombardment started.  Shells showered down, lighting the sky with thunderous danger. Hidden in a dug-out, three others and I sat.  Covered in wet clothes, shivering, we waited. We shook not only because of the cold but we were all terrified. Thoughts ran through our minds; is this the end? I looked around at the dirty faces. They were but boys; at least half I knew would never return home.

The rain and hail had finally stopped, but the Germans had then attacked. The bombing lasted at least ten hours. We waited restlessly, with barely any food. Now, our clothes still wet from the downpour, we trudged through the deep mud, some tried to hide their fear. The ten hour pounding from the Germans was a massive preparation for the oncoming attacks. We heard shouting from all directions. My emotions were a mix of terror and exhilaration. Germans flooded towards us. One started to aim for me, but I was quicker. He let out a cry as his body crumbled to the ground, blood soaked his body. I could barely carry on. Hundreds lay dead in the first few minutes, half buried in the blood and mud. Those men died side by side, filled with foolish pride.

Unrecognisable body parts lay strewn around the trenches. Flashes of light illuminated the battle. The noise was deafening; in between the explosions the screams of the dying, animals and men, would haunt us forever.  I could see medics darting, bravely but futilely, around the trenches, helping and praying for us. They lifted the screaming boys onto stretchers; they tried to sooth them while they cried for their mothers. The injuries were devastating; my mind couldn’t comprehend the deaths.

A German rushed towards me. He lifted his bayonet. I froze. I could feel my heart drumming, my breathing was heavy, and I could see my breath in small clouds in front of my face. The few minutes felt like an hour. He didn’t hesitate, he darted towards me. My body was draped over a wire of pointed steel so quickly. I screamed. It had pierced my body effortlessly; I remember that alone had shocked me. He pushed me off his bayonet without remorse. Fear drowned my body, cutting off my air, I fell to the ground. I realised I was holding my breath then I had gasped, attracting the attention of my friends. I am not dead yet, I thought. I felt two pairs of hands on my shoulders, dragging me back to safety. I writhed in searing pain. It was unbearable; I felt broken. The pain was the only thing that attached me to the world, and it gave me a little hope. My last thoughts in the war were jumbled; and my sight was of only blackness, but I could hear medics talking to me, I couldn’t concentrate on their voices. Then I lost consciousness.

The End

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