Life in the Trenches
It is horrendous! Soldiers are slumped in viciously grim trenches. It is harshly unyielding to survive in this blunt diseased hell hole! The smell was so bad. The atmosphere stinks aggressively of human waste and slippery soggy wet terrain combined with the stale sweat reeking from underneath their worn battered garments. Possibly the worst smell you could ever imagine invades our nostrils.  Soldiers are slowly dying around me puking over sickness and the drenched awful smell
Soldiers are shouting and moaning about their wounds and illness and also the sound of the slop sound from the soaking mud from the soldiers moving around angrily and the sound of mine and the other soldier’s stomachs rumbling begging for a piece of food. Young boys, with the face of innocent angels cry out desperately for their mothers. God bless their soul. It never gets any easier to see a human life ending in agony.
There is hay from the bed I sleep in. It is horrible; it was used for bedding which was often shared by other soldiers, like a cell. We were so squashed like sardines in a tin can, if you can imagine that.  I also felt the stinging icy air from the soldiers as it was so cold in the trenches. I thought I was about to get a frostbite from this cold galactic night.
I regret my decision to join the war so much. How foolish and sad that I thought I was going to be a respected hero; I don’t feel like a hero, I don’t look like a hero and I don’t want anyone to call me a hero when I return home. I feel so overwhelmed with sadness, I can no longer stop my tears from flowing like a river down my pale cheeks. God, I miss my family so much, the hurt is like a deep wound that will never be healed.  I miss our warm cosy cottage back in Berkshire chatting to my brothers; all crowding round the table gossiping about the latest war news.
I have nausea due to the tiredness and hunger. I was deranged starving and begging for a warm and quiet night for once in this awful diseased trench. It was so bad that I only ate a tiny portion a day. It felt like I was living in the underworld where torture lasts.
My neighbour, Harris Booth, who was at school with me gazes up at me from the bottom of our muddy disgusting damp trenches. I recognise the look on his face; he also regrets signing up. He had hugely blisters on his damaged feet and foot fungus. I feel extremely sorry for him. He deserved a better life; not lying injured from a large bullet wound in his thigh bone – the agony of his war wounds from this pathetic war  written all over his face. Poor boy!
Thank god the siren came last night. Thank God the battle was won for now.

 Many soldiers including myself are suffering pain on a daily basis, our feet are sore, our backs ache in agony. It is becoming unbearable to stand these terrible and grim conditions; the army didn’t advertise has to offer the soldiers. My friend, Harold, shot himself last week!  At least, he has found a way out of this mess; a heavenly exit.
 Damn this satanic war!
The memory of last night’s battle will stay with me – lodged like a bullet in my brain.