The sound of war surrounded Conrad, the smell of blood penetrated the air. He was living a nightmare of untold proportions. He had joined with his friends, his brothers, to protect his country from the invasion that threatened their way of life. In the beginning, he had expected to only be gone for a few months, but he was sorely mistaken.
He had been sent to the Western Front to protect the fall of France. “The War to End All Wars,” they called it, such a name still wasn’t enough to encompass its horror. Conrad gripped his metal helmet tightly, lying in one of the trenches he had been forced to call home. Gunfire and explosions filled his ears, accompanied by the never-ending screams of death.
“Alright men, time to do your duty!” yelled an officer nearby. A whistle blew, signifying that the moment of his torture had come. He forced himself to stand, and with the other soldiers, he climbed up the trench, taking his first step into hell. The view in front of him could only have been created by Lucifer himself. For as far as the eye could see, there was only a crude, thick wasteland.
With great effort, Conrad put one foot in front of the other and started to sprint, as did those around him. Explosions from shells launched by the enemy filled his senses. Fear melded itself to his soul, he could not run any farther. Conrad slid into a dent in the ground, likely left from a previous blast. He gripped his rifle tightly and breathed faster than his lungs could manage.
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
There were too many bodies to count, a great mass of them laid right across from him, blood everywhere. For a moment, all went quiet. The gunfire ceased and the explosions stopped. That’s when it came, one of man’s worst creations. A greenish-yellow gas flooded the landscape, causing Conrad to quickly reach into his sack and equip a mask.
Screams echoed everywhere from all around him. He turned to his left and saw a fellow soldier fall into the pit, clenching his face. The man screamed and screamed till his vocal cords went hoarse. Conrad began to panic, his mask fogging from hyperventilation. The man crawled over to Conrad and looked him dead in the eyes, placing Conrad’s face up to his. “Please, kill me, please! PLEASE!” The soldier’s eyes had begun to go white, blisters forming over them. His face melting, burning, being destroyed right before him.
The gunfire and shells started once more, causing Conrad to break. His dead brothers, his dear friends, the family he left behind, all flashing in front of him. As he pointed the rifle at the tortured man, all he could think of was how badly he wanted out of the nightmare. “I’m…I’m sorry,” he whispered, addressing the soldier, and his loved ones, as Conrad pointed the rifle towards the front of his own head and pulled the trigger.