Inside a shell
Inside a shell
There is a whisper of a wave
Inside a feather
There is a breath of a breeze
Inside an ember
There is the memory of a flame
Inside a rock
There is the murmour of a mountain
Inside a well
There is the echo of a wish
Inside a seed
There is the promise of a flower
Snap those fingers, tap those toes.
Letter from the trenches
Dearest Mother,
War is not what it’s cut out to be. We all thought it would be over in a year at most. It is now September 17th 1916. Bill has sadly passed, we grew up together mother, I’m not sure I’m going to make it to the end of this bloody war.
I hear the rumble of guns and tanks in the distance like a thousand earthquakes, this truly is hell on Earth. I miss Molly, the sweetness of her voice like an innocent butterfly drifting in a cool breeze on a midsummer day. Please do not tell her of my time in the war. I do not wish for her to worry about me. I swear mother as soon as I get home, I’m going to marry her, until then I will keep fighting in another man’s war. You’ll be happy to know as of right now I am not on the front lines, but I am afraid that I will go to the front in a couple of days.
Bill was always kind to me. I still hear his voice. I thought for sure if anyone was going to survive this madness it would be Bill. Sadly, I was wrong. Tell his father he went on fighting till his last breath, he always wanted to make him proud, that’s how he ended up in this war and I went with him. Two kids in an adult world drowning in a sea of mud and blood, choking on the vile stench of death.
I promise, mother, I will return to you some day. We will see each other again.
Love your dearest son Charlie
Letter from the trenches
Dear Max’s mum
I am at war. I see dead men everywhere.
All I hear are gun shots spooking me while I run through the muddy trenches.
As I shoot my gun, I feel hot tears run down my face in anger as I shoot innocent people.
I taste dirt as everyone around me is running and struggling and kicking dirt into my face.
The smell is horrendous. I smell rotting flesh everywhere and I can taste this thick dust floating around. I may not make it back home.
From
Whitney
