It's cold in the trench, you've dug out your own grave and reinforcements aren't coming... you all know you're doomed..... it's only a matter of time before the bomb hits and you all die. A young man silently prays, an older man sighs and falls asleep, and everyone else makes paper airplanes with letters to their loved ones... shooting them in different directions. None of them will make it... There's no point in running... You won't outrun the bomb... so you sit there, in the trench, thinking about your family... You served your country, and tried your best to be a good person... and here you are... surrounded by hopeless men... You might as well give them a proper goodbye... so, from somewhere deep in you, you pull out an old tune...
" Dear mother I pray for your safety, I am to be cast away. Please carry on without me do not waste a day. I beg for forgiveness for all that I've done, I wish you a good life because you only get one... " You begin... the other men seem to perk their heads up at the familiar song. One joins in with you... his head is lowered and covered by a cap and a cigar hangs loosely out out of his mouth.
" Dear sister I hope that you will be strong, and I will watch over you singing this song. This song I call life, it stabs you like a knife, and it goes on, and on, and on... "
Then, the others slowly joined... your voices coming together as one... The old man woke up, the young man stopped praying, the airplanes paused... and all that could be heard was the loud singing of hundreds of men... All singing the last verse...
" And father, dear father, I will join you soon... I will come with a new smile and embrace for you too. Don't worry my friends for you will celebrate life, knowing I wish that, and that it is right.... "
The men smile faintly at the song... some rest, others observe everything about their resting place... but you... you sit and hum... you hum your song and wait patiently.... And from somewhere in the distance you hear the bombs... landing... there they are.... falling like shooting stars from the sky... the noise hits you before the impact and then... Darkness... Goodnight men...
( Based roughly on the beginning of this video. We had to watch it in history class and I developed a love for it. )
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The Author's Stories
Historia CortaThis is a collection of short stories I've written that I decided I wanted to share. Most of these are angst. They aren't connected, I wrote almost all of them individually except the Stage stories.
