It's Christmas Eve and it's been 4 months since Britain conquered the German Trench but all I can see is the eyes of the horse and the german soldier. They stare into mine pleading, begging me to save them. But I do nothing.
Sitting in the trench I open my box of trinkets, containing memories of better days. On sight it may look like a collection of dead flowers, a bunch of letters, a bar of chocolate and a teabag. But every time I see my little box I see a meadow of wildflowers, hear mary’s laughter and am reminded of a day tasting of happiness and oranges. I smell the lavender and press the letters close to my heart and I am home again.
A cannonball is fired and I am transported back to the rat-infested trench.
These days I often take long walks in the trench and slowly repeat the names of the friends I've lost to the war.
Ron.
Marty.
Lucas.
Jerome.
I swore, that they would never be forgotten. I swore that even though they may seem like pawn pieces to the British Government that could be tossed and thrown away, they would never be forgotten. I swore that they would live on through the memories they bestowed to the people around them. They were and remain to be heroes and i would never forget. never.
Occasionally during my walks, my thoughts wander to the perplexing paradox which we call humans. You see these people have a tendency to destroy themselves but put themselves back together again. No matter how much our history tries to shape them and try to teach them from past mistakes, they always forget.
But who knows? Maybe this time they’ll actually learn.
I feel a surge of hope swell up in my chest and I smile amongst the piles of dead bodies in the trenches and thousands of rats, a rare movement during the war, one of hope and I think to myself
As long as there’s hope there’s something.
Later that night.
George went to bed early today and instantly fell asleep as his head hit the pillow. He went asleep that night with a newfound hope about the human race. Something he hadn't felt in a long time. He instantly drifted into a happy dream-filled slumber.
I am sorry to tell you that he did not hear the sound of the bomb landing over his trench. I am sorry to tell you that this noble man died in a filthy trench on a cold December night. All that was left of George Holland was a box filled with of a bar of chocolate and lavenders.
George (the night of the bombing)
George was sitting next to the fire with a glass of gin in his hand. He was surrounded by Jerome and Marty, who were teasing him about an awful joke he had just cracked. Ron and Lucas sat on the carpeted floor talking about politics. He smiled sadly, for he knew where he was and what had happened.
He was sad, Sad and mournful of all the happy memories he had left behind. Of all the sunkissed days and sunsets that he would never see. Closing his eyes he went through the archives in his brain seeing shadows of honey ginger mornings by the sea, a game of cards and the sound of laughter in the trenches, the general’s lectures.
Suddenly Lucas said
“Hey George, do you remember when we stole bread and butter from the general's secret stash and he found out.“
“I remember buddy, I do.”
oh my god this is so good