The spilling of blood

Text transformation inspired by 'Dulce et decorum est'

“What happened with you and her?”

Life happened.

It was the year 1916 in which I enlisted in the Manchester regiment, brainwashed with the concept that it was the right path to take; to be brave and fight for one’s country. But no one could begin to understand the horrors and realities of war; the real war; the war we experienced.
We were deployed on our first mission in 1917. We arrived into what appeared like another world; the feeling of depression sweeping the broken town immediately enveloped you. Normal life was disrupted as thousands of British Allied soldiers swarmed the streets preparing for battle. The cries of heartbroken women taunted me as they bid their farewells to loved ones; how I wished she was there with me. As the troops were assembled I stood frozen, terrified at what lay ahead of me.

As we trudged into the mainland, drowsy soldiers began to slow with the pain of their crippling feet.  The pain in my feet was distracting and with each step, the pain only worsened; I knew I’d have to attend to them soon.  As our first rest commenced I collapsed against a tree and began to tug at my tightly fitting boots until I felt a burst of relief as puss oozed from the reddening blister; the stench from my feet was vile as I bathed them in the water of a nearby river. Sitting in agony I forced them back into my boots. The rest was soon over as we trudged on through muddy fields of sludge which swallowed the ankles of weak soldiers; making it almost impossible to go on. My thirst was extreme as I was falling into a dizzy state; how I should have been more sparingly with my water supply. It couldn’t be much further now I remembered telling myself, but as I glanced around at my fellow troops I could see the exhaustion taking over before battle had already begun.  A man beside me noticed the dehydration appear in my face; as my tongue felt thick and prickly making it almost impossible to swallow and my lips layered with a white crust of dried saliva. He lent over with his hip flask, gesturing me to take a sip; as it reached my mouth I felt the cold liquid slide down my throat replenishing every dried out crevice. What admiration I had gained for this man, showing such kindness to a stranger.    

 

We arrived into chaos as we entered the mainland; Soldiers desperately diving into safety, targeted by the constant shellfire deafening the ears of most. I realised then this was only the beginning. The lieutenant began barking out orders to the troops frozen by shock, there was a certain confidence about him that appeared calming to most but I could sense the underlying worry in his tone. Soldiers dispersed running all over, as the deadly attacks of gas leaked across the battlefield guiltlessly wiping out men. The well revised plan was soon forgotten as a green mist descended; soldiers ran fumbling clumsily with their gas masks. There he was staggering towards me spluttering and choking in desperation fighting against the clouds of smoke strangling his failing lungs.  He fell into me clawing at my body in an attempt to escape, wheezing as he tried to communicate. I cradled him in my arms as his petrified eyes studied the expression of horror that had taken over my face. I watched as the blood foamed out of his paralysed mouth, with every squirm and struggle drenching my trembling arms until the last breath was forced from his lungs. He had been dead for a while before I finally let go. The world’s heroes; brave soldiers fighting for their country yet in a split second reduced to the innocence of boys; begging for the pain to stop. I carried him as the heat from his body was slowly being drained and replaced by something cold and cruel; Death. I stood devastated as I placed the young soldier’s corpse into the wagon; how had it become the normality for a stranger to die in your arms?  I knew the sights I’d seen were beginning to take an effect on me; Insanity was creeping in.

  I wandered alone from the battalion in a daze of devastation after witnessing such tragedy. There, in the remains of a broken countryside, he stood; his uniform soiled by the crimson blood of war. I stood for a moment immobile, as I questioned my ability to murder someone, after watching a man die helplessly in my arms. I was fragile and unprepared.  He shot at me twice. The bullets punctured my skin splintering the bone in my right shoulder; I hit the ground within an instant, immediately losing consciousness.   

As we arrived back at our base, I laid there deprived of sleep as the echoes of piercing screams began to haunt me. It was impossible to escape the flashes of horrific images of wounded soldiers; as blood spurted out of infected wounds. The reoccurring nightmares of agonising cries; of men burning alive in excruciating pain as skin melted down there shrivelled bodies creating a monster; as if in some sick and twisted nightmare. How I wanted to get out.  Although each night, exhaustion lulled me into a much needed sleep (it was not without great difficulty.) The stitches in my shoulder were causing me great irritation, as the crusty putrid yellow layer of scab was constantly snagged by the itchy cotton sheets. Sleep was no reward, but another obstacle; as I awoke at two hour intervals into huge puddles of sweat due to the extreme medication I was given. It was then that I needed her most. How I longed to hold her in my arms and look into her beautiful green eyes that seemed to capture you in a trance. How I’d give anything to tell her I loved her just once more. I knew that I had to return to her; she was the only reason I wanted to survive.

I was awoken by the strained wheezes of wagons as they transported the corpses of lifeless soldiers into the base. Soldiers stood silenced as the sorrows of loss overwhelmed them. Lieutenant John had promised that no solider would be left behind dead or alive and as impossible of a task this would be, he was a man of his word. I was to be flown out later that afternoon, as the decaying infection began rapidly spreading throughout my arm and needed amputating. However my injuries seemed minor to the sights I had seen, I was getting a ticket out of this place that most men longed for, but I wasn’t out; no one ever really was. Whether it was the nights I lay screaming trapped in violent nightmares or the uncontrollable guilt I felt for abandoning my fellow soldiers in a state of doom, there was no escaping the place; I was involuntarily committed to that war zone for the rest of my life.

 “Dulce et decorum est, how wrong they were.”

“Sessions finished.”

Psychiatrist notes: Unfit to re attend battle, mentally unbalanced.

Reviews

[snaprabbit]

“and realities of” – probably better to leave this out because you go on to say “the real war” so it’s kind of repetitive.

“Normal life was disrupted as thousands” – I think that by 1917 normal life had been disrupted pretty much everywhere. Maybe a different description, something like, “overnight the sleepy hamlet transformed into a frenzied hive of activity as we girded up for war.”

Try and find a different way to describe the women, “heartbroken” is a bit of a cliché to use, especially in this context, it kind of goes without saying. Just “the cries of the women taunted me as their loved ones were torn from them, destined to roll the dice of their lives in some far-flung pocket of hell on the continent.” – something along those lines.

“pain in my feet was distracting and with each step, the pain only worsened” – cut out the second “pain” to avoid repeating yourself. I.e. “the pain in my feet distracted me, getting more excruciating with every step.”

“The rest was soon over as we trudged” – try and use less passive “was” descriptions and make them active, i.e. “The brief respite passed before I could enjoy the welcome relief, and we marched on…” – cuts out “was” or “were” to make descriptions active. That’s not saying that you mustn’t use these words, it’s just that you should try find ways around them. A rough rule of thumb is 80% active, 20% passive.

“before battle had already begun” – I think you mean “before battle had [even] begun.”

The bit about the water flask I don’t really get. Yeah, you want to show companionship, but surely this guy should have a flask of his own, or at least had a drink from the river. You could get the same effect if you make the protagonist trip or stumble, and this other soldier catches him and stops him falling.

Maybe slow down a bit and really describe the scenes of battle. Now, I did quite a lot of WW1 stuff in my last semester at uni, so I’ve still got all this stuff whirling round my brain. Most of the time troops would be in trenches, so you need to clarify exactly what’s going on. Are they in a trench being shelled, or are they charging out over no-mans land…and being shelled? It’s a little too quick. No there’s a balance to be struck here, because you need to make it visceral enough to have an impact on the reader, but not go over the top with the gore and violence.

For the ending paragraphs to have the impact you want, I repeat what I said above. You should draw out the battle and even the journey to the battle. Give the protagonist a name and some characterisation. That way when he gets turned into a shell-shocked wreck the reader will really care. Right now everything’s kind of skin deep. You reel off all the horrors of war, but there’s no-one its really connected two.

Read that poem…Wilfred Own if I remember rightly.

Nice ending line from the psychiatrist.

On the whole, needs more fleshing out with regard to character, and maybe pull back some of the description of the man dying in his arms. While there’s nothing inherently bad about this piece, for me there’s no real stand out factor either. I think it would really benefit from having some increased characterisation and a longer build to really drive home the impact of the battle.

Hope this helps!

Jamie.

[Levi Levin]

You did an excellent review. One of the best I have seen with an attention to detail.

[snaprabbit]

Much appreciated. If you've got anything you'd like me to look at just fire me a read request and I'll get around to it.

[Levi Levin]

I liked the story and it was very descriptive in nature. I give it a 96/100. There are two things where I see possible improvements could be made......1. The over emphasis of the semi-colon 2. The misuse of the word murder in this war. Murder is the intentional killing of someone with evil intent. This was a war and during war people are killed generally from he defensive standpoint of the opposing force.

Overall you did an excellent job, but if you want to sharpen it, then think about what I said. Good luck!

[Wolfwind]

Amazingly powerful! Well put together, delivering a powerful image and tale. Well done!

Aaron

[jadda12]

Strong imagery and I liked the line that no one really gets a ticket to leave the war

[Coyote Poetry]

You did very well with this story. Made the situation feel real and painful. Feet are bused and tortured in real war. I like how you added a small piece of realistic feel of war. You gave me a surprise ending. Most men block out war. Some men cannot. Thank you for sharing the excellent story. WW1 was a messy war. Fighting for inches and thousands dying for small pieces of land.
Coyote

[S.Wright]

Thank you, and I read a lot of Wilfred Owen's poetry before writing this, and his honesty on war made me want to portray the reality of war throughout my story. Glad you liked it.

[Nick.B]

Interesting plot, with a great description...this is a great piece, love stories that happens during one of the world wars...great job

[S.Wright]

Thank you, yeah I like the depth of emotion in stories about war, glad you enjoyed it.