What Charlotte Said; W. Schofield

5.

Charlotte stood still and gazed intently into the distance, looking at the very trail which led to the trenches; this spot was especially familiar to her. When she was tending to boys who had barely torn themselves from the place, generally after the enemy had pulled back, she had stood still in this spot, gazed at the truly horrific spectacle and almost marveled at a vague and mysterious emotion it roused in her. It left her strangely cold; this gorgeous picture was for her, blank and lifeless. She wondered every time where this feeling had originated from, distrusting herself, then putting off the explanation of it. She vividly recalled all these old doubts and perplexities, and now it seemed to her that it was no mere chance that she recalled them now. It struck her as strange and grotesque that she couldn't take her eyes off the dying, weeping soldiers from the trench. As though she actually imagined she could think the same thoughts, be interested in the same things and pictures that had interested her . . . so short a time ago. She felt it was almost amusing, yet it wrung her heart. Deep down, hidden far away out of sight, were her longings to see what was down there; to prove that she was just as good as any man who had braved such trenches. She suddenly became aware of the earrings she still had in, with two swift movements, she pulled them out and flung them into the mud of the trench, then she blinked and veered into their depths.

Daylight was coming on when she reached the near-end of the trench network, so that she must have been walking about two hours, navigating the yelling, smoke and rude grumbles of soldiers. The boys acted very differently towards each other then they normally would to a nurse or woman like herself. They shoved, punched and cursed any who got in their way, and herself, being much smaller, naturally was like a ragdoll when traffic worsened. When she reached a sparse spot, an entrance to no man's land, she laid against the sand-bag walls. It didn't matter to her the mud caking her boots and pants, she was much more focused on getting an ounce of rest before whatever party was sent out to find the devons passed by. Surprisingly enough, she didn't feel damp. Although her nowfound trousers were caked with dark brown mud and dew, she felt oddly dry. Passersby must have taken her for a trench medic, she sat with her arms draped over her knees and her head down, hanging limp there while she tried to scrounge any rest. Charlotte had a fearful dream.

She was in a dark cavern, no, a trench. However this time it was a deep night. She startled when something illuminated the sky, almost completely turning it white. Under this new lighting she saw the outline of a figure. When another flash came through the sky, behind her now, she recognized Donald. There wasn't a single speck of mud on him, contrary to Charlotte's horribly soaked stolen garb. She tried to yell out to him, but her hoarse voice came out a low whisper. When a gunshot sounded somewhere from no - man's land, her instincts made her drop instantly. When the light faded he was gone. Determined to see him - to speak to him just one last time before her dream state fell off, she stood to her full height and began to run in his direction, not caring if the bullets pierced her skin. It was hard to run through the trenches, but they were completely empty, not another soldier in sight. When she turned a corner she just about slipped, but there she saw two figures now. Donald and her mother - clear as day. Another flare shot through the sky, and artillery cracked through the air, causing a devastating explosion just above a bunker. She ran, once again, attempting to reach her loved ones. When Donald was finally in arms reach, she ran to hug him. It was an odd feeling, falling through the air, grasping for something that wasn't there. Suddenly she became aware that she was falling much longer than it would normally take for one to reach the earth; she was now just falling through the gray sky. However, this time it wasn't empty, the sky was lively with flares exploding like fireworks, almost blinding her. Planes shot through the sky, cutting through the air below her, just missing her freefall. Now she had begun to scream, wishing that suddenly she would gain the ability to fly by some miracle. The ground grew closer and closer, inevitably showcasing her death. But when she hit the ground, it didn't hurt. In Fact it was a relief, to finally cease rushing through the endless battlefield that was the sky. She lay on her back now, looking up at the smoky atmosphere above. Finally, Charlotte grasped her consciousness and rolled her head to the right. It was nothing short of a startle, and frankly, when she scampered backwards against the wall of the hole, she wasn't sure what she was seeing for a moment, all she knew was that it was horribly mutilated and most definitely dead. On its face were round, silver filigree glasses. Samuels glasses. Upon further inspection she was met with horror that this was her younger brother, blown to bits by artillery and boche weaponry. A sharp pain hit her in the side, once, then twice, and she was awoken.