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Creative Writing Task- WW1 Trench Letter

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´╗┐Letter from a WW1 soldier English Dear Martin, Matt died today. It wasn?t my fault, whatever anyone says ? it happened about two in the morning when we were sitting together against the trench wall, our backs damp against the dark mud, listening to the slapping dollops of cold, wet raindrops splattering our trench and the strangled chattering of machine guns above us. I remember the silence when they stopped ? a silence so loud I felt like I was drowning as it engulfed us all; as blood pounded through my ears, swish, swish... It was terrifying. I remember panicking blindly through the heavy sleet, pushing against the darkness, breathing in the ghastly stench of trench foot and mangled rotting carcasses, buried in the side of our trench amongst the mud and debris. I remember hearing my loudly pounding heart as it thudded through the silence and the rasping breaths of others beside me, remember being all too aware of my lungs and heart and blood, beating and pumping and working to keep me alive; of knowing that when I no longer hear the frantic thumping of the animal inside, that was when I would know Death had snatched me. ...read more.


I didn?t tell you about John in my last letter because the memory was too painful to face. However, I?m going to tell you, no matter how much this hurts me. I want you to realise the seriousness of the situation I am in. I need you to fully understand why you must not come here. They blew him up right in front of my eyes, just as he was going over the top. I remember vividly seeing the blood as it sprayed the trench floor and spattered my face. It got in my mouth, its taste hot and salty on my tongue. And then I felt a slice of pain stab through my stomach. I felt like I was on fire. I remember choking and falling... The explosions were pounding through my head and I couldn?t see, could only feel... Pain. The throbbing pain in my stomach was hot and raw, the dull light above me burning through my eyelids. Dizzy. Sick. A bit of shell had hit me, was cutting into me, ripping my skin and leaving a gaping hole like a shining lipstick mouth on my belly. ...read more.


until you feel like crawling into a hole at the bottom of your trench and wishing that that death would just claim you. I would rather be a shirker then be gassed to death, rather be called coward then be shot stone-dead and let my body decay on unfamiliar soil, a thousand miles away from home. You?re not a coward. No part of living in trenches is fun. When you?re not living in fear of snipers round every corner, or the paranoia of a mine destroying your trench, you get boredom. There?s nothing to do, nothing to take your minds off things. You stop feeling completely human in the trenches. You just feel like some primitive beast, living in the rain and the mud alongside rats and fleas with the single objective to kill or be killed. I don?t want you to ever be in the same position as me, Martin. Do something clever for once in your life and don?t come here. Don?t be bullied into coming, and resist social pressure. Remember, you have a choice now; don?t make the same mistake that I made. Love, Rob Elizabeth Isles 10RK 20/9/09 ...read more.

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