Dramatic Monologue

[ Wipes sweat off forehead and edges further along the trench, staying tight to the wall ]

"It's been hell since he's gone. Travelling home first class in a box- I think not. That would be a luxury. He's with the rest of them, poor bastards, thrown in a f*cking hole. Disposed of. Cast aside. 'Thanks for your life son but your no use to us now, so we're going to let you rot in a shitty excuse for a grave if thats ok by you?'. Thoughtless b*stards."

[ Soldier takes a long, deep breathe and wipes his eye ]

"It was my sixteenth birthday lst week. Nobody knew.How would they? Everybody I meet now after Billy are just faceless numbers. You don't have friends in the army. You can't have friends. Thats not how it works here. I shouldn't have let myself get attatched to anybody. You make a friend, they die. Even if they don't, you will. 'Emotional baggage' as my mam put it. Just another problem, another way to get yourself killed."

[ Another soldier shouts and waves at him, gesturing for him to follow. The soldier takes another long, tired. sad breathe before following. This single sigh tells you more than words could- Despair, relief, depression, everything ]

"It's suprising how easily the army decided to believe my age. I'm just another person holding a gun as far as they're concerned I suppose. We're all walking dead-men to them anyway. 'Jimmy-who?'. 'David-what?'. It's irrelevant. It doesn't matter who we are or what our names are. Dead. All of us. If not in action then just being here is enough to push most people over the edge. Every single night I have to listen to screams from grown men, sobbing, ranting. All crying for their mothers. Wanting to go home. Wanting to be anywhere but in this place. Anywhere but here."

[ A whistle is blown and the soldier lines up with everybody else along the trench wall. Silence. Waiting. A second whistle is blown. The soldiers are ordered over the top ]

Scene:-A quiet country house, the kind you'd like to retire to. Beautiful gardens and away from all the 'nonsense' that is war. A general stands by the door, handing a letter to a middle aged lady. She stands, sobbing silently.

"My mam moved away into the country to escape all this. All the violence and death. It's followed her there. Followed her in the form of a letter. My last thought was of my mother. The look in her eyes and the expression on her face as I came home. Home at last. She'd no longer be alone. We wouldnt need to send letters to talk anymore. I was back. i could see her with her arms wide open, ready to embrace me. I clung onto this thought hard, as I knew, whilst lying there on the floor, that it was my last."