The Ghoulish Tales of The War

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  A bullet To the heart


This is my first time writing, or publishing something. I wrote this story a while back and I really wanted to share it, but didn't know how, and now I know. This I a story I wrote inspired by the French in world war 1. It's a fictional story developed around the life of a character name Jack that I'm developing. I Hope you enjoy it. 

Judge as much as you want, I enjoy criticism. This is a learning experience for me.

So here we go...

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He could hear his heart beat like a drum in his chest. Each beat shook to his very soul. He was trembling. A hot tear rolled down his cheek, sweaty palms clenched a fist in his shirt. The more he shook sweat started forming in various parts of his body as his thought ran like the speed of light. His breath starts to hitch, and his lungs screamed for oxygen. He 'hic' as filled silence the room. They were coming, and he couldn't move. They were coming, and he was frozen.

France, 28 July 1914

Jack and Ralph arrived home. They burst into the house with belly laughs as their heart cry of pure joy as they pushed each other down the short hall way only to be stop in their tracks. A dread filled the living room. The whole family was there, even their uncle Franco, which meant it was serious. As they slowly walked into the room they saw what the horrid feeling was about. it was a feeling so twisted, it ground their stomachs. It was at that moment when they saw a newspaper at the center the bare table, with one word covering the whole front page in bold and black "WAR". With no one daring to touch it, or even break the silence, the nine-year-old Jack in all innocence asked his father what it meant but received no answer. The day had died without a word being said.

Jack woke up to the sound of loud yelling. The nation was crying as young boys were yanked from the arms of their mothers, men left their household in dismal as their families weep. Everyone got the message. War was declared upon them. They had heard the dreadful news, the horrid things about it. The ghoul tale of men being dehumanized by the government and turned into all sorts of monster or men-killing machines. That they were able to wipe out entire fields of men. The stories of war were terrifying for everyone, especially the French as they have known true horror that had been passing down from generation from the French Revolution. Little Jack got out of bed, walking downstairs to see what was happening. There were men in uniforms standing in his living room. Bags were packed by the front door. Had some alerted the French police? Did something wrong happen when he was a sleep? He ran down stairs as the two men walked closely behind his father, guiding him out the door.

"Papa," he said in a heartbeat. The men stopped in their track, his father turned to him. "What's going on? Where are you being taken? Why are you leaving?" his innocence rushed with questions, "Who are they? Why are they taking you?" was the last question he said before being cut off by the strong arm that wrapped around his frail body.

"It will be okay. Papa needs to go to war." whispered his father, and he froze. "I'll be fine, I'll be back soon." He started to shake, hot tears forming in his eyes. "I'll write to you everyday," he said with a reassuring hug.

Jack only received one letter that summer.

Jack's older brother, Ralph was had all his fathers responsibility around the house for the live in the a small village on the outskirts of Paris, it got a little chilly up there from time to time. As news of war ran, so were the challenges to woo a women. Girls thought a men in uniform quite attractive. And thought those that weren't in uniform, weak. Ralph, a teenage boy, and Jack's older brother found this challenging. especially since he had much of his mother's mother angelic feathers. The only way he could get a girl was if he joined the army. He knew what war did to ones family, what it did to his family. He knew what happened to his father. The grief that filled his home after they had received that letter, and the way his mother cried her way to sleep every night clenching to his father photograph, but he did it anyways.

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