Letters from the Trenches

Dear my Beloved wife and children,

At last, my opportunity to write you a letter has come. This opportunity will not come for awhile so sit comfortably and have a cup of tea with the children when you read this.

I miss you, Elena. Every day I yearn to hear the soft voice of yours and your touch against my skin. I miss hearing and seeing the kids fight with each other over a wooden toy. Although it irritated and caused me stress, I would rather hear that than hear the faint cries of young innocent soldiers as they fall to the ground.

This war is horrendous. Never in my life or any other person’s life has seen something so frightening. For most men, it felt like torture. It was like you were guaranteed to die.

The life here is gruesome and terrible. The trenches, which we spent most of our time in, have become the worst place to live in. It is a small dug out in the ground, about two to three meters wide, infested with rats and frogs that carried diseases around. The stench of the decaying bodies on the battleground and the trenches can be smelled from a far distance. Often you are alone but the rats and flies keeps you company as they feed on your rations or a dead body next to you. Head and body lice creep all over my body and clothes because I can’t always change nor keep myself clean. I am too busy worrying about whether a heinie is behind me or a bomb explosion will suddenly go off. The food here is not to my liking. They’re stale and dry but decent enough to make it through the day. Although the night seems more relaxing, I try to sleep comfortably but the rifle bullets and bomb explosions echoes through my head as if they were real. And they were.

A terror place in which no man would gladly step on has become the area of our battle – the no man’s land. Many die in front of your eyes and often it’s one of your mates. But you can’t weep for them in time of a horrific battle; instead you learn not to make friends anymore because it is too