Yes, we do have food, but the food we have is barely edible. Our large, french cook, Alexander Fantozzi, is a failure when it comes to the culinary arts. We have biscuits that resemble rocks far more than they do bread. On occasion we are granted the gift of meat or cheese. Although the portions are not large, they are appreciated all the same.
However, the presence of dead bodies always surround us. Somehow I feel as though their essence remains on every bite I take.
Katya Abelsky
Feeling.
The trenches themselves are perhaps the worst environment I have ever been in. Each trench is only wide enough for one or two of us two stand comfortably in. My fellow draftees crowd around me, and thus I feel restricted by the bodies- both dead and alive.
Worse, however, is the mud. Mud fills the trenches and clings to our bodies. It is nearly impossible to walk because of the effort that has to be used as we pull each foot out of the mud only to relinquish it back to the mud within the following moments.
Each of these circumstances builds on the others. The result? A feeling of filth and confinement, of surrounding gnats and insects.
A feeling of disgust.
Katya Abelsky
Hearing.
The sounds dominate every memory I have of the time in the trenches.
Over all sounds, was the sound of gunshots- gunshot after gunshot after gunshot. Machine guns, rifles, grenades: We had learned to decipher between each of them. Despite our knowledge, however, the constant rain of bullets affected each of us. Some even developed what we had come to call “Shell Shock”.
Less notable, however, equally disturbing were the sounds created by men. The cries forced their way into our ears, hearts, and memories. Among them were cries of terror- instigated by what was assumed to be the undoubted, looming force of death. Soon to follow were the cries of pain. These were perhaps the most startling as we all knew they were manifestations of well placed bullets or blades.
Katya Abelsky
Seeing.
As I look back upon the past months, I realize that my vision has most often been obscured. The hinderances although different in manifestation all had the same result- each taints my perception.
Before enlisting, my knowledge was limited by my disillusionment. Now that I have become a part of the war, the limit has become more literal.
The trenches are very deep and thus around me all is dark. At night, the small amount of light comes from above where I can barely make out the sky.
In someways, however, I prefer this blindness to the day. During the day, the sun illuminates the element of war which I would rather forget- death. All around us, are scattered corpses.
The men whom I knew and those whom I would never know.
Katya Abelsky
Smelling.
The smell was horrible.
There are bodies everywhere. Friends and Foes. Despite the identity, each had the same fate. The bodies were left there amidst their still living companions. They were left there at the hands of the atmosphere. They were left there to rot.
The corpses which surrounded us contributed to a revolting odor which welcomed us at every moment.
The smell of the bodies seemed to devour us in its presence; we were unable to free ourselves from it's grasp.
The odor was influential itself. It hindered our ability to eat, to drink, and in each of our small processes.
Katya Abelsky
