Damn. Just damn it all to hell. Over the top, thirty seconds . All my involvement. Why send me to the front? Why? Ah, 'the great war: 1914 to 1917'. What foolishness. Poor chaps. Brave too, too brave. Braver than I. Pen pusher; coward; snake. Just what you deserve. Wretch.
He lay on a tough hospital mattress. It was dark and night time. It would be dark even if it was not because the big thick curtains kept the light out. For months he had laid there in agony; recovering. It was now into 1918.
He peered out of his eye; the left eye was somewhere mixed with mud and rats and his face skin. He looked at the window. He peered through the curtain at what the nurse had described the view to be. Liquid built up in his eye and clung to the ball, a lengthy blink dislodged it though and it fell irritatingly down his cheek. He could see the pretty flora marching out over the landscape and out over the horizon. The fierce blaze of the sun illuminating a myriad of colourful flowers. Off out to the left were where the livestock grazed. To the right was the path leading to the serenity of a woodland; a place where the patients who were nearly well could ramble for half an hour. Thank goodness he couldn't see the truth. Maybe he never would.
The glance switched from the window to the bed. The eye shot towards the bottom of his body. The quilt looked very abnormal; some bumps were missing.
Luck? What fucking luck? Suppose I am the lucky one really. Alive, I suppose so. What kind of life though. Doris will never take me now; lonely leg, lonely man. No taking the car out into the country on a hot summers day; picnicking under the fully blossomed oak tree. Most likely sat at a window. Be able to see normality; but normality won't be able to see me; well deserved too.
An almost loud groan came from a nearby bed. The occupant stirred frantically for some seconds before retreating back to tranquility; no doubt reliving some great push. He really was no great distance away, with only two beds separating them. Most of the beds were empty: three men occupied beds on the opposite side, and only the two on there side. A cough down in the opposite direction ran up to his ears.
These irritations were nothing and the ward was a godsend compared to his previous abodes of the past few months.
The incessant screaming; kept me awake all night. Oh the sights. Pure gore. Poor Gerry missing his whole bottow half. Imagine that. At least i can walk with a stick. At least i can get up and reach a book. At least i can read a book; young Simon's burnt eyes. Never breathe properly again either. Just getting enough oxygen in his lungs, such a laborious task. Sure even they are the lucky ones. No such luck: Blackadder, Baldrick, George. That fat bastard with his stupid mustache. Sipping brandy whilst the reports will have been coming in. No thought will have been spared for the men he knew. Statistics now. Blackadder wasn't a bad chap. I can see why he did everything possible to escape. No doubt could have achieved too if it wasn't for all the idiots in his life. Should have helped him. How many people have died in this bed?
Small rivulets of despair cascaded the sunken cheek; all tributaries to the river anguish. An effort was made to lift his arm to wipe away the tears, but the effort was made in vain. A clock above the door tried to show it was twenty one minutes past twelve. He felt very tired and his thoughts became less clear as he decended slowly to slumber. In the morning the nurse came in and opened each curtain a fraction, permitting a tiny immigrant of light to enter softly over the border. She dressed all the patients and then came to our tragic hero. She shaved his face and put on his clothes. All the while he sat in his chair and stared at the curtain. Finally she put on his socks and shoes.