As I Lay Dying

Seven

"I feel like shit." Jimmy groans in a self pitying voice.

No one, not even Luke, disagrees with him.

We've been ordered with the task of shifting sandbags, heavy rain is forecast. As if we'll care about the trench being flooded when we're going over the top tomorrow. Let the next batch of soldiers deal with it.

The shifting of each heavy bag brings a shooting pain across my forehead.

"I'm never drinking again." Jimmy groans loudly. The muscles across his broad back ripple with every bag thrown at him.

"You probably won't get chance to again." Pigeon mutters pessimistically, struggling under the weight of a single sandbag.

"Piss off Pige, we're all gonna survive this and move to Oz, ain't we?" Luke grins at us. "We'll buy a huge piece of land and build houses next to each other. We'll sit on the porch every night and watch our kids run around."

"Yeah." Jimmy grins adoringly at Luke. "That's right, ain't it Harry?"

I nod and shoot him a smile as I throw another sandbag towards him, ignoring the hangover that pains me.

Once the defence is built I wander over to other side if the trench.

Over the top tomorrow. Into battle.

Tonight could be my last night on earth. It could be Jimmy's, or Luke's.

I make my way slowly across the trench. The mood is subdued amongst everyone. We know what's coming tomorrow, the morning will be spent in heavy artillery attack followed by a mad rush over the top. I remember Jimmy asking me innocently how often we'd go over the top. I answered him wryly, but honestly... Many will only do it once.

It's not tactics. There's no regard for life, it's murder plain and and simple.

I can see some of the newer soldiers trying to settle down for the night, wide eyed and fearful but thinking that they need to sleep. It's not important, once you're in battle you can't possibly feel tired. It's impossible to sleep the night before and they'll tire themselves out more by trying.

I find a quiet corner and sit heavily. The bottom of the trench is always wet and my feet ache from it. I vaguely hope I'm not going to suffer with the dreaded trench foot I've tried so hard to avoid.

Life here is brutal. The past two years have passed in a blur of thick, wet mud, scarlet blood and constant fear. I don't want to think about that. I don't want to think about the other things though, the memories Jimmy has opened with his probing questions.

2 bloody years I spent, suppressing them. Then this great hulk of an idiot came and opened it all up again.

As if I ever really forgot.

****

1913

"You looked beautiful at that ball last night."

"It was boring until I ran off to meet you Harry."

Evelyn turns towards me, a faint smile on her lips. We're sat near the riverbank fishing. Her hand is gently wrapped in mine and we've been here hours, watching the kingfishers on the sun dappled water. The heat of the day has made us both uncover our feet and dangle them into the cool water beneath us.

"I'm sorry." She sighs eventually.

"What for?" I pretend not to know, not wanting to recognise the humiliation.

"That my father made you wait on us." She closes her eyes, pained at the memory.

I nod slowly, not allowing myself to speak. The pure agony of having to play servitude, serve food to men as gazed on her, watching as she pretended that I was unimportant, invisible.