The Park

Rain fell from the cold heavens, it fell on to the man, drenching his brown hair, and trickling down his face, little drops fell off his nose, and on to the ground shattering, into smaller drops.

His head hung low, and his eyes where dead, empty, the colour had drained out of them, and his skin has turned a cold pale.

He sat on a bench made of maple, it too was soaked, turning the wood a deeper colour, beneath the bench was a grass that had turned to straw, from lack of rain, it had been a long time since the last rain. The rain could not soak into the hard ground, and it pooled at the man’s feet, seeping into his shoes and making his feet pain in the cold.

Around him was a park, that had not seen the laugh of a child in a long time, the swings were broken, and slide a bent out of shape, and many of the money bars were missing.

He slowly took something out of his pocket; it was thin, metal, and ended in a point. He slowly brought it up to his eye, and gazed at it.

It was a medal; it was a triangle, with the depiction of five stars on it.

The sudden crack of thunder, doesn't faze the man, his eyes are attached to the thin, metal object.

His hand is guided down to his pocket, a piece of paper is pulled out, and it rest in his hand, shielded from the rain.

Tears have now joined the rain, but they do not flow, they leak out of the man eyes, as his heart slows down, its beat, and his surroundings become fuzzy.

He lies on the bench, putting the paper on his heart, and all light fades away, as flashing lights appear in the distance.

A gentle breeze blows across the park, knowing the paper out of his hands, reviling the words; We regret to inform you that your son has passed away on the battle field. The rain taking the ink away as it flows over the paper.

The Last Charge

A whistle blew it rang, long and loud lasting forever, out over the gun fire and artillery shells. It pierced the fog of the desolate wastes and filled my heart with warmth, I felt inspired, and I yelled alongside my comrades in a cry that rang out from our sides, I heaved myself out of the trench alongside my friends, I stepped onto no man’s land, and rushed forward, gun in hand.

Beside me Jack, a guy from my town, he live next to me, he made it past the first line of barbed wire, until he fell to the ground, but I go on into the fog bullets flying by me, I hear the sickening thud, of them hitting bodies, and knowing that just one more life has been snuffed out, no longer to live in this world, no longer.

I see in front of me Mr. Artlend, the towns baker, he dives into small crater made by an artillery shell, only have another one fall into the hole, the explosion made me stumble and I fell onto the ground, but i got up again, there were very few that I could see with this fog, as if all my group was gone. But I continued one, foot after foot, i ran past craters i passed and dead soldiers, I never looked at their faces for fear I would recognized them, I look up, I see the trench, I look to my sides, no one.

My unit gone, my friends.

I hear shouts calls to stop, no, they are orders. So I raise my gun, only to fall down, and I join my unit.

No gunfire rings, no artillery shells exploded, enough souls have died today. Their bodies lost in no man’s land, forever, until their bones become dust, and they fly off into the wind.