When He Came From No Man's Land

What if you were trapped in the deadly past of World War two, forevermore?

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She walked to see me, to see my grave and bring me my son. I had no idea she would do this every week. My body is dead but my soul is not. It is still in the past, it returns there every hour of every day, of every week, of every year of every decade, of every millennium, of every forever. For the rest of eternity I will go through death and find myself in the same position, in the same war - world war two. I didn't mean for it to be that way it just turned out like that.

It all started when I was visiting my dad at the graveyard. The air was cold and thick of an October afternoon in the year nineteen thirty nine. The second world war had just begun and I was relieved to find a way to get out of serving in it. I know it sounds selfish, but my wife was pregnant and I didn't want to die (if I did) before seeing my child grow up and raising them. I was only twenty five then. Now, I have been tortured. Dying. For 1 year.

The graveyard was a long walk and I was extremely exhausted, that is why at first I thought I was just dreaming. Now I know it was much more than just a dream it was the beginning of eternal torture, suffering and pain. There were eleven rows and my father was the eleventh stone on the eleventh row. At that time the number eleven didn't mean anything to me but now it is a number of history; of the war. Behind me as I walked towards the stone, my blue wool jacket got caught on a grave behind me. There are only eleven rows, it couldn't have been a grave stone, but as I turned around, my eye caught on a detail. There was a stone behind my father's grave, but yet it still did not bother me, 'They must've placed a new one.' I thought to myself. I was curious, as any man could be, so I began to read the name.

There on the top of the stone, were the words "In loving memory of Edward Boswell". The grave had my name engraved on it. The town of Slable was very small and I knew everyone in it, and as far as I had come to know, there was no one else in the entire village called Edward Boswell. That is what I thought I was dreaming about, but now I know, I was certainly not. Still to this day Pippa, my wife, and John the son I never did, never have and never will meet, visit me every week.

When I saw this horror, this worst fear of mine, I wanted to run but was unable to do so, I was glued to the spot and paralyzed with a great fear. So instead of running all my body knew to do was fall, and never stop until I reached my destination.

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I awoke. Lights. Shouting. Gunfire. I realized that the shouting wasn't merely far away. It was down my ear and in front of my face. As I came more to my senses, I saw a man.

"Edward! Edward!"

I groaned and moaned and my eyes flickered open to see a young man, roughly the same age as I was then. "Where am I?" I struggled to say. It then occurred to me that I had never seen the man in my life and, despite that, he seemed to know me well. He knew my name and knew more about me than just that. It was the expression on his face; the way he seemed to care about my health; my well being. I looked up at him and asked for the second time, "Where am I?" and, "How do you know me, I've never seen you before in my life?"

A look of concern began to grow on his face when he looked over his shoulder and shouted, "There is another person for medical, this one's lost his memory after being hit by the fritz!" as soon as he had said this, two men, covered in dirt, mud and blood, came towards us carrying a stretcher to take me away.

We trudged for what seemed an eternity, as they carried me through barbed wire and mud up to the men's ankles. Sounds as loud as thunder filled the air as we walked endlessly over dying men and agonizing over the appalling amount of ammunition. It didn't take me too long to figure out where and when I was. I was confused and troubled, only a few moments earlier I was walking through a graveyard and now I was in the war itself. I began to concern myself for Pipa who was alone, wondering where I was and about to give birth. For all I knew she had given birth or was giving birth and I wasn't there to see my child. I might never see my child if I die where the government had promised me I wouldn't go. Those thoughts filled my mind as we walked for hours trying to find a bed for me in a medical station somewhere in these bloody, muddy, deadly trenches.