"I didn't live through my story; my story lived through me"
It was dark outside; dark and desolate- one of those nights, where there is something sinister about it, yet you can't quite put your finger on what it is. The curtains were drawn over the grand window, albeit the darkness outside was somewhat haunting us, into the room. I often feel like this; mother says my imagination is just playing tricks on me. "You're young!" She'll say. "I was the same Eddie, exactly the same. Now run off to bed, before this paranoia attacks you anymore…like a monster ROAR!"
I laugh and do as she says, although I never believe her. This night however; this night was different. We could all feel something; Mother, Father, Nanny, Pops and I. Pops suggested telling horror stories- he would always lift the spirit.So that is exactly what he did; and exactly how it began.
It was the winter of 1916 and we were living a nightmare. The winds were stinging and slapping our faces, stabbing our hands like knives. We could not see out into the distance; we were lost, lost with no escape. And our hunger. Unbearable hunger had we, stomachs so empty it felt not even our soul was left inside us. But wait- what were we surrounded by? That's it; people. People lying on the ground, with their souls taken away from them; their lives were no longer ahead of them. And that was our harsh reality. Bullets being shot from left right and centre and "BOOM!" another soul was gone. You could hear the determination in the bomb's voices and they lit up and ruptured, shortly followed by a rumble of devastation.At the end of the day, we had nowhere to go aside from a trench; our hell hole. We weren't just depressed in the mind; we were living depression. Surrounded by rotten rancid rats, scurrying into every nook and cranny. And the smell was vile; the rats, the mud, the air, the entire atmosphere. Speaking of the mud, I must mention the fact we could not walk at all without sinking, filling our gaping boots, a demon living below dragging us under- and that demon was inside of us too. The worst smell of all, was the smell of dead bodies; at the time it appeared as the whole word, however now the nightmare is over, we know the facts; on the first day alone, we would have been surrounded by 20, 000 dead bodies; that's a huge number of people Eddie! The smell was revolting- a decaying scent choking the air of rotting human flesh. Death is such a cruel thing-usually it is like the wind that slowly creeps in between door cracks and silently takes its prey-however in this living nightmare it was all we ever saw. And if we weren't killed in some awful bomb attack, air raid, or gunshot, it was likely we would die of starvation- I tell you now, I am incredibly lucky to be here today. Our food was extremely basic; bread, cheese, oatmeal; you get the picture? And that is all we had to survive on all day- a day full of attacking. We did not want to attack; well, that is for sure how I was feeling, I can only assume for everybody else. Albeit, we had to; it was a never ending game of kill or be killed. Our food was somewhat appetising compared to the other side though, however- the Germans. They had only the basic of the basics from our diet, and it was not as much as we were blessed. They were fighters though; we all were. What else could I tell you about? Ah yes-we were without our families for months. And months. And months. Imagine that Eddie- I'm sure you would miss your Mummy and Daddy very much, as did I. We wrote letters, however that was our only communication- miles away from home, our minds full of nothing but torture and loneliness. Imagine that Eddie, Imagine it- ghastly! And this living nightmare- this living nightmare took away from me who I was before. I survived, but as a person inside, I didn't. I didn't live through my story; my story lived through me".
And that was that; I knew the story of my Pop's living nightmare. Never in my life have I heard such a horror, not even the worst of my dreams were so vicious. I hugged my Pops tightly, and never wanted to let go.
"Know something Pops?" I said. "You're my hero and the world's hero. I love you" He looked me in, told me I was his hero, and carried me up to bed. I will never forget this story; the story that my Pops didn't live through; the story that lived through him.
I can't add anymore as the limit was 800 words, but yeah any adjustments? xx
См. статью: Read over my story please?