Writing of the Month

Submit YOUR stories to ~ bbimonthly@gmail.com ~ or click the 'Share Your Thoughts' button on the home page!

The poster screamed “The Empire Needs You!”. It was my dream to fight in the war. I thought that when I came back everyone would be chanting my name and saying “you’re our hero”. The locals would always be talking about how well we did. But once I was on the boat I realised what a mess I had gotten into. Feeling sea sick I remembered my family at home. They had wept as I left though the old oak door; a tear ran down my cheek. A warm firm hand rested upon my shoulder “you will be home in no time’’, the commander's voice was confident and calm Three miserable years in the trenches have passed and of my friends only Alex is alive. But Alex is slowly losing it; his left leg is smashed below the knee and a bullet has ripped the length of his right forearm. Blood soaked bandages is the best that they can offer. Now I have no one to talk to, no one who knows me. I am alone with the screams and gunfire. A letter arrived from home written by my proud parents. The letter reads: Dear son, You may have heard about the loss of the many boys from home already. We have also heard the sad news about Alex. While you may be very heartbroken we are very happy to hear that you are doing well. We hope you will be shipped back soon. Your father and I are so proud of you, and are missing you very much. Please write to us as often as you can. Heaps of love, your mother Leigh. I tried writing back to my parents, but the sounds of war disheartened me; screams, crying, shells whistling and exploding. A soldier beside me froze still, staring, as a shell screamed toward us. Like a rabbit in headlights he cannot move to save himself. Run rabbit, run! But it is a hopeless and sad sight bringing only horror and torment. Through the haze, my distant thoughts grasp at my mum and my family. I just want to go home. It was four long years before the wonderful white flag was lifted high against the filthy smoke filled air. All of my fellow soldiers were crying, laughing, shouting, jumping for joy; the taste of home deliciously close. The wounded, broken, blind and brave boarded the boat back to our eager families. Many of the soldiers that returned home from the war brought back a new disease, shellshock. Walking the streets I still hear the shells exploding, smell of death lingering, flinching at the sound of kids playing. I’m a hero to some, but not to myself. No bandage or remedy will fix this mess. War is horrible, with innocent people doing what they're told to do; killing.

#WritingoftheMonth