As I lie here in my dug out writing to you, under my lice infested, rat chewed blanket, I suddenly realise just how cold it is in these trenches. These dark walls seem to be closing in on me, suffocating me. I think I don’t usually feel it because I am used to it by now. But after the heavy rain of today the usually cold and damp trench seems much, much worse, in fact I’m not sure if it really qualifies as a trench anymore; it has become more like a collapsing pit of flowing mud, splatters of crimson blood everywhere.
I see rats the size of dogs attacking dismembered limbs, and the sight is almost too much to bear. Tatters of army uniform, like my own, are flown everywhere as I peep above the trench. Thick, gassy aromas make my stomach churn and some gets trapped in my windpipe and I splutter, terrified that I will see dark red blood pouring out of my mouth.
All I can hear are exploding bombs, muffled by the trench and the screams of agony. They carry on through the night, and I go mad from the constant cries of death. Every hour, someone I know, well, knew, and respected died. Telling the difference between sunlight and moonlight has become almost impossible now. I sometimes wonder if this is all worth it, there is so much death surrounding me that it has shaken my faith in what I am doing.
When I first entered the trenches I was a young lad full of enthusiasm to serve his king and country, but now I often lie here wondering who is more to blame for this war, our government or Germany’s. I would however do anything I could to get this war over with as fast as possible, just to see my mother, and father, my wife and kids again; I would do anything for that.
