Part IV – Lost in the Sound of Separation

A diary entry I tried to write from the perspective of a soldier in the trenches along the Western front in WWI. (Perhaps not so) happy reading.

Dear diary,

Last night when I crawled beneath my sodden blanket – my eyelids heavy, my legs trembling with fatigue – I knew that the dark of the night was little but a veil of uncertainty. I knew that my shallow and disturbed sleep, if it ever came, only preceded another day in this bottomless pit of death.

And now, in the golden light of dawn, my feelings remain unchanged. The stench of the deceased is nearly unbearable. The buzzing murmur surrounding me resonates with a sense of foreboding. Within minutes we will go over the top. My comrades will gallantly surge forth, and we will, inevitably, be greeted by round, after round, after round of bullets. Many of us, perhaps even I, will fall to our knees, blood pouring from our wounds, swallowed by the dissonant cries and lost in the smoky blur of our final moments – lost in the sound of separation.

They said that war was a thrill. They said that it was a rush. Instead, we are suffering down in these damp, rodent-infested dungeons. Instead, humanity is suffering in this age of endless turmoil, in this age where tomorrow may never come.