The Forgotten

As the daylight breaks upon the horizon, the darkness pains my eyes. Shadows stretch across the land; they hide what I despise.

The dank and stale air surrounds my nostrils, suffocating me instantly. I inhale through my mouth in an attempt to get some oxygen. My lungs ache for air to help filter the black smoke that coats my insides. I imagine it resembles what a chimney would taste like. An eerie mist creeps in over the dwarf wall that props up one of the remaining tower windows. Covering the floor like an unwelcome blanket, it slowly creeps up my legs hugging my waist.

The blistering rain pounds the tin roof, and the wind whips around my stone coffin. The wintery snow-capped hills carrying the noises of war, is in complete contrast to the stillness of this tower.

"Don't panic, we're all sinners here," I say as a feathered fiend lands on the rafters above. Dust from the beams floating down like a thin rain, encasing everything that lay below it.

Holding what I am convinced is the leftovers of either something or someone, tight within its talons. It squawks at me with disgust in its beady little eyes.

The feathered cretins won't even acknowledge me now. Their disdain as glaringly obvious as their unease at my presence. Having to trap the rats and feast on them, I'm not surprised they're suspicious. When the rodents run out, their winged counterparts are next.

I have been here longer than I think. Every fibre of my being merging with the weeds beneath me, the way they vine their way through the stone connecting with my flesh. The cracking in the frail stone beneath me mirrors that of my aching joints.

For once I am actually rooted to the spot, pun intended.

My comrade on the opposite side staring at me with his lifeless eyes, the true horror of our experience stained on his face. His body slumped in the same position he died in. Denied of his last breath by the artillery shell that tore through his abdomen. Impaling him against the far wall, like a hunter's trophy for all to see.

Had I not been scouting from the opposite window; I would be slumped right beside him.

Lucky bastard...

Our post in the tower now left abandoned by both friend and foe. Any surviving members of our unit retreated when the siren rang. The enemy keenly advanced after them. Artillery fire followed our brothers in arms towards the horizon, faint German commands could be heard in the momentary moments of silence. We followed orders by remaining in the tower, the aim was to protect the bridge.

The Germans invaded this little town, tying to take the bridge. We held them off but not without tragedy. This tower has been my sanctuary for as long as I can remember. Having not seen much of the outside, I could be forgiven for forgetting where I was. It certainly didn't look like this when we arrived.

The streets covered in rubble, dust and cement coating where pedestrians once strolled. Cars overturned almost in a pattern through the town, leading the way toward the enemy. Not a single roof remains on the buildings in my eyeline, bare timbers and metal rafters now consume the immediate skyline. Plumes of smoke reach up into the sky acting as pins on a map, the sky taking an eerily dark colour as a result. A time of day is taken from me as the smoke casts shadows from the sky above.

More feathered pests join their friend on the rafter above, squawking as though to communicate. I am sure they are plotting my demise, their presence becoming ever more unnerving, the more of them there are.

"Watch your eyes Newman, they're coming for you." I confirm to my comrade. I am temporarily distracted by the flapping of wings above me, dust and debris swirl to the floor.