Flowers in a Battlefield

A top a hill in the rolling countryside there grows a single oak from which you can take in the best view in the county. Amidst the endless green and yellow sea of fields below it, sits the family farm – left of the river, just visible behind to the small copse of trees. The familiar stone walls and dark slate roof. The red roofed barns and the large muddy yard. Out beyond stretches the fields of sheep and cows and crops. And then the next farm, and the next, as far as the eye can see.

It is up here that I sit, spread out in the long grass beneath the tree, finally alone, trying to collect my thoughts, in the place I keep closest to my heart, the most precious place in the world. It is where I am happiest, healthiest... safest. It is where my life began and where it shall end. Where I will remain until everything is over and the end finally comes for me.

Shells shriek as they spiral through the sky, sending up walls of earth and stone as they make contact with their target. They've been going off for a week now. A whole week. Seven days of shrieks, bangs, tremors and cries. At first, I had flinched at each explosion, clutched at the wall while the ground shook beneath me. Now, the fear is still here, but I am used to it now. Sort of.

Standing huddled up against the cold, damp wall of earth, I tug the collar of my jacket up closer to my chin, trying to create a barrier against the icy wind that tears at me, hunting for any gaps in the material where it can burn my skin. Rain, which had long ago broken through my last barrier of clothing, stings my exposed cheeks, like thousands of relentless needles, and runs in rivulets down my spine. The ground below me, which has never really been dry, has become a bog and I can feel myself slowing sinking deeper into it, disappearing into the ground that will most likely serve as my grave.

Lying there, I watch the sun lazily make its way along its path in the sky behind the dark clouds. Each time it breaks through the barrier the world seems to stand up to attention, reaching for those precious rays of light that will give it life. Its presence lights up the countryside around me, giving the landscape a dreamlike quality; the long grass becomes a sparkling sea, the fields of dull crops turn to gold, and the choir of birds nearby begin to sing.

That is until the sun disappears and the world is once again clouded in its usual dullness. The dream is broken and reality returns... at least until the sun can escape again.

I open my eyes and look to my pal huddled beside me. The rain has finally let up and now we're waiting. Waiting for the same thing as everyone around us. For the silence to come. For the signal that will send us out there; to the place we have been told not to venture out into, not to even look at, unless we wish to die. His dirt streaked face mirrors everything I'm feeling inside. His jaw is clenched in a show of bravery as he tries to hide the fear evident in his eyes. The same fear visible in mine and everyone else's in the trench. Shaking fingers clutch the cold bayonet in his hands so tightly his knuckles have become a strange, sickly, bone white colour. I know without looking that mine are exactly the same.

For the first time since my arrival here, I realise the reality of my situation. I'm not a soldier; none of us are. We're farmers, miners, shop keepers... boys... dressed up in damp, oversized army uniforms, with rifles clutched in our trembling hands and helmets on our heads. We don't belong here. We belong in our fields, in our towns, in our cities... in our country. In Scotland. Anywhere but here.

We're not soldiers.

But, I must be, I must pretend. It is the only way to get through this, the only way to survive. To get home. I squeeze my eyes shut, and, for the first time since getting here, I pray for my life.

The explosions stop.

The sound of my name being called stirs me from my thoughts. There is a figure making her way up the path towards me. Her dark hair trails out behind her in the breeze, her pale blue dress billows around her legs and her smile widens as she spots me beneath our tree. My girl, my love, my angel. The one who is always waiting for me, always there for me when I feel alone. The one who will be the one to bring me home when all seems lost, when all of this is over, when the time comes for me to leave.

It's gone quiet. The shelling stopped, the explosions ended. The time has come.

Fear rushes over me, crushing my chest, drowning me until I can't breathe. The world spins. A bead of sweat carves a path down my mud-encrusted face, from my hairline to my chin and drops to the ground at my feet. I can feel my racing heart beating wildly in my chest.

Someone is asking me if I'm alright. I want to laugh at the absurdity of it. After this moment, I'm never going to be alright again. Even if I survive this nightmare, I'm never going to be the same person I am now. I can never go back home to my old life. Not after this. Not after going over the top. Not after killing someone. I'm never going to be alright again.

The whistle finally sounds somewhere to my right, suddenly causing the world to snap back into focus. I straighten and square my shoulders. Shouts are raised all along the line and bodies begin to move. The pipes begin to play, reminding me of home, as my foot makes contact with the first rung of the wooden ladder that will take me over; out into no man's land to meet my fate. This is it.

She's leaning over me, her dark locks creating a curtain against the fading sunlight, a barrier against the world. Her intoxicating lavender scent washes over me as I gaze up at her. The smell conjures up more memories from my past: times in the sun, the rain, the snow; days in the fields, in town, at school; moments surrounded by friends and family, and others alone, just the two of us. The brushing of fingers, the bumping of knees, the touch of lips. Every moment spent with her flashing through my mind in an instant. My whole life spread out before me.

Long tendrils of grey smoke reach out towards us as we move forward, pulling us into its midst. As we enter the bank of smoke, mud squelches beneath each step I take, pooling around my boots and sucking at my feet, trying to drag me down into the dank earth. There is no sign of life besides us. There are no birds, or trees, or flowers.

As we break through the cloud bank, I get my first view of our enemy. They're still alive; our week-long bombardment failed. There are hundreds of them, dressed in their drab uniforms with their mud streaked faces just like us, positioned around their huge guns, pointing them directly at us.

Machine gunfire pierces the silence. Screams fill the air around me and people begin to drop in front of me. The fear is bubbling up again but I must continue to walk. To stop is to die. At least if I move I might stand a chance. There is retaliation from our side but it is no use; there are too many of them. We're outnumbered.

Another wave of fire, and another but this time I'm not so lucky. Pain slices through my chest and I fall. I cry out as a blood red flower begins to blossom on my chest. I can't move, I can barely breathe. My worst nightmare has come true; I am dying.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" I ask, raising a hand to touch her cheek. Her full lips are curved into her usual shy smile, but her eyes show her true emotions. Tears shine in them in the growing darkness, but she tries to blink them away.

"It's time, my love."

I can barely keep my eyes open, my eyelids feel like tonne weights are pulling them down. I'm not ready, not yet. I don't want this day to end. Looking past the curtain of hair, I can see that the sun has almost disappeared behind the hills I know so well, and I know that she is right. It is my time.

It's getting cold now, and I know the end is near, but there's no pain. My body is numb. This is it, my last few moments on earth... and all I want to do is dream of home - the rolling fields, the single oak tree, the glowing sun, holding my girl in my arms as we watch the sunset – as I have since I arrived in this desolate place. But it's all in my imagination. Just distant memories. Memories, so different to my reality, I'm not even sure if they are real any longer.

My hand tries to grasp at the letter tucked safely away in my pocket. Her last words to me. The last words I will ever know. The only real reminder I have of a time before all of this, so I cling to them with the last of my strength as I feel the end coming... the darkness closing in.

Touching a pale hand to my cheek, she runs soft warm fingers over my cold skin, brushing away the hair falling in my eyes. "Sleep, my love," she murmurs in my ear as a single tear escapes. "You're safe now."

And I did. Lying there with the girl I loved, in the place closest to my heart, as the last rays of sunlight disappear below the hillside, I let the darkness take me away and close my eyes for the last time.

I am home at last.