Dulce Et Decorum Est

The response (in POV of soldier)

We're walking. We don't even know our destination. We can't feel our feet, as seems as though we're floating. Dazed, we move as one. A sharp noise, louder than the dropping shells that I had trained my ears to ignore. A strange noise. A voice. "Gas! Gas! Quick, boys!" I can't understand. A thick yellow fog is creeping towards us. Finally, it clicks. I fumble wearily, searching for my mask. And freeze. It's upon me. I hold my breath, but the burning poison is filling my lungs. How? White spots appear in my vision, and I focus on something in the distance. A group of men. Do I know them? My flesh begins to crawl as I feel a sticky liquid pour out of my mouth. I jolt as the pain worsens. My lungs. Every bone in my body. Even the minuscule hairs hurt. I feel as though I've been set alight, flames licking every inch of me. I don't feel the hands on me, lifting me into the wagon. I only feel the burning inside of my heart. My throat. My brain. Oh god, my brain. Suddenly I can't think, my whole body shaking uncontrollably. My nostrils filled with a metallic smell, a smell I was so used to in the trenches. Blood.

And then, finally, thankfully I am still. And I am grateful to the gods. I'm dead.