'Disgusting.'.

I remember the vile taste of my own stomach acid, being forced through my throat at an uncontrollable, stinging, speed. My breakfast of soggy stale bread and dried fruit, splattered un-so-willingly onto the mud that acted as hands upon my boots.

'It's alright, mate. Just calm and you'll recover from this.'. I told myself. Looking down at my pale, bony hands, i attempted to control my shaking, and let the rain slowly drag my mess away in a murky puddle.

I formed my hand into a fist and put the thumb and finger area to my mouth as if to cough into it, but instead did this to force back another gagging sensation that sickly spun around the thick ball in my throat.

Coughing heavily, I placed my hand onto the weak walls of the trench. More of my insides rejected more. Ah. There goes last night's supper. My throat was so dry. It hurt.

I pushed that thought aside though. The rain was pouring, we've been in these blasted trenches for months, and yet still no progress!

Unless having precious men dehydrate due to dysentery, falling to their knees due to exhaustion in said waist, starving, or being infected due to shots as progress. Not to mention the trench foot. Hah! Maybe to the Germans! The snakes they are! That young brat better learn not to touch what isn't his, and let well enough alone!

My boots made a suctioning noise as I stomped into, and yanked myself back out of, the mud that squished under the soles, to walk to a better position beside my partner.

"Are you alright? Your skin looks awfully pale. Your cheeks are even more hollowed out than usual...". He trailed off.

"Yes, yes. I'm fine! I suppose I've got dark circles under my eyes as well! Though I haven't been able to sleep through those bloody shots throughout the night! God! Don't these huns ever get some Shuteye?!". The question was obviously redundant.

I looked through the murky 'No Man's Land', or as it's been recently named, to see if I could spot anything to hit instead of just waisting ammunition on pointless shooting.

It was cold and slippery in the trenches. Francis better be kissing my boot when this whole ordeal was finished. I shivered as my, once form-fitting, uniform hung off my boney body. "What a mess. I knew this brat was trouble!"

"Get down!". I yelled at my partner and shoved him down as I turned to face away from the blast.

My eyes widened as all the shooting stopped. What was going on? I coughed as mud and dust flew everywhere, raining down upon me, and causing me to shut my eyes.

There was a blury figure above me, shaking my shoulders. Ah...I got blood on his hand...I'm sorry. Though...i didn't feel the pain. My ears picked up a humming noise and a dull voice above the echoing bullet shots, calling out my name.

My eyesight adjusted and focused. A look of relief crossed over my partner's features. Then one of shock. Thick blood splattered upon my face and sprayed from his back.

It was warm. My eyes began to cloud as his body collapsed upon mine with a sickening stillness, revealing a figure behind him, but I didn't care about that. I had been through enough wars to know what had happened now.

I screamed my voice out and I could feel the gutteral results of my bellows and howling beginning to take effect in silencing me. I couldn't speak. I could feel the pain inside my neck from it.

The countless tears rolling at an impressive size down my face as I looked up at my lover's shooter whilst hugging his body. Tight. Close. Secure.

How could this happen? We don't die. Do we?

I began to glare harshly and grit my teeth at the German standing before me. "I'll kill you! You heartless, good-for-nothing brat!".

"You should have joined" was all this kid could say. His cold, lifeless, blue eyes staring at me.

His marksmanship as precise as his neatly slicked, blond, hair. Even in a battle like this, as he pulled the trigger.

Shooting through my reason of being and hitting me. The pain hurt now...as I faded into a long sleep.