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You had not imagined you'd see the sights you'd seen, or the smells of death or sounds of guns and shells. You stood in the trench smoking, inhaling slow and purposeful, pushing, as best you could, the sights seen from your mind. Your boots stood in the mud, your feet damp where the boots leaked; feeling the movements of lice, you scratched. You exhaled the smoke and watched it rise unevenly before your eyes. Two dead soldiers lay a few feet away, both you knew, one quite a card, now just a corpse to be moved when safe to move. You vaguely recalled your life back home, the simple eagerness to enlist. You thought of Rosina back in Blighty, her bright eyes, dark curly hair, wishing you were with her back there.
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Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 1:19 PM UTC
Trench Musing 1916.
You had not imagined you'd see the sights you'd seen, or the smells of death or sounds of guns and shells. You stood in the trench smoking, inhaling slow and purposeful, pushing, as best you could, the sights seen from your mind. Your boots stood in the mud, your feet damp where the boots leaked; feeling the movements of lice, you scratched. You exhaled the smoke and watched it rise unevenly before your eyes. Two dead soldiers lay a few feet away, both you knew, one quite a card, now just a corpse to be moved when safe to move. You vaguely recalled your life back home, the simple eagerness to enlist. You thought of Rosina back in Blighty, her bright eyes, dark curly hair, wishing you were with her back there.
TerryCollett
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Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 1:19 PM UTC
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