The Night Before.

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The Night Before

Darkness has just come over like a sheet descending on a bed, the silence only disturbed by the hooting of an owl nearby; the stars are shining brightly. One man said for every star in the sky there is a man who has died in the war. It’s funny because I could swear that there are more stars in that sky every night. The smell, that gut-wrenching smell that is constantly there hanging over my head. It used to be that you could smell the tea being made in the morning, now I can no longer tell if anything is being made, it’s even hard to tell the difference between someone’s shit and the decaying bodies both dead and alive. However there’s something worse than the smell: the rain, the rain that soaks the mud and blinds the eyes, the rain that makes the smell even worse and the need for a bath ever more present.

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                Someone asked, “Which is worse, to die now or to die later?” No one answered, it used to be we would talk of those who had died and have a drink as a memorial: now we can’t, so many have died we no longer know who is dead. But which is worse I thought, dying now saves you from the agony of having to go through this whole thing again. But dying later leaves the chance that you could get home. But what would happen if I do go home. I hear that questions are asked and heroes are welcomed ...

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