| User | death22881 | | Topic | A story | | Message | I never even heard the bullet.
It was war as always. In the mud with the rain splashing down onto down cast souls hunkered down in treches and a maze of bomb holes, tunnels and what ever shelter and hidding places were there was. I once saw a man hidding in the hollow of a stump that had been a huge tree. The mud was not brown as you would think it ran a murky red from all the blood that we spilled onto the ground. I looked to my left a man was sitting clutching at his rifle his hands shaking as his nerves ran out of control.
I wasnt feeling too crash hot either, i clung to my weapon like him my eyes downcast as the rain beat a taboo against the helmet on my head. It might give me a headache but i left it on. Over the sound of bullets and bombs a little rain was nothing. A sweet sound in a way one that was not tarnished by the violence of it. The sound of gun shots meant a fellow falling lifeless or screaming for death that would not come and watch him receive only pain.
Men broke in this sort of place, we were all wound pretty tight with the war. smokes more precious than gold out here, men fought each other over a butt of one. The smokes calmed people if it was the only god send there was it was a cursed backwards one. Addictive and killing, i knew what smokes could do to you but they calmed the men so i kept my opinons to myself. We had been in this one position for over three weeks back and forth gaining ground and loosing it as quickly as we got it. We were growing tired and short on supplies, some men had taken to raiding the dead for what ever they carrried. We were also short on bullets and all amunition. Things were getting desperate, moral was down and so were many men. I wrote this just to get by, a way to surrvive, i best stop now it is dawn and we will be charging soon.
*In an echoing cry of war cries from broken men they moved forward. Charging with all their mights. Bullets flew tearing the air with there speed. Bombs dropped blowing the world appart. Men screamed dying cries and then fell. A bullet hit home into a man who wrote to get by his way of surviving. With a desperate effort he drew out his book and wrote a messy last line.*
I never even heard the bullet. |
|| Replies ||
| User | death22881 | 2005-01-16 | | | Subject | untitled | | Message | thank you peoples!!!! |
| User | Amanda Langley | 2005-01-16 | | | Subject | untitled | | Message | I like your story, Um... I like how he wrote that last line as he was dieing, that is a good ending. |
| User | death22881 | 2005-01-16 | | | Subject | untitled | | Message | Just a story i am looking for some feed back on anyone? |
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