A/N: I have recently read Private Peaceful in English and seen War Horse on stage in London which inspired me to write this - but also the poem Dulce Et Decorum Est. This is written from Albert's perspective.
As I stand beside the wagon the sight of decaying bodies, dangling limbs and large lifeless eyes both astonish and revolt me. The silent screaming and ashen faces of those who are clinging onto life look upwards desperate, begging not to be taken and claimed by death, never to see this world again. Their pain riddled faces that are pleading for some scrap of relief scare me.
I can feel the sharp stinging in my eyes as the rotten bodies release their pungent odour into the dark, miserable world and I try to blink it away. But it is no use. This is an everyday sight now, an everyday occurrence, especially on No Man's Land. Bodies piled upon one another. Dark crimson blood covering the thick, sticky mud. Germans upon British, both dying for another, both dying horribly for their country.
It hits me then, like a wretched bullet in my chest and I have to take a few paces back. I could be next to lay cold and stiff amongst those bodies, out there on No Man's Land or here, by this wagon that is perfumed with death. Gurgled blood dripping from my mouth, staining my face, as it forces its way up and out of my lungs that would now suck at being lungs, my tired body destroyed and torn apart by gas, bombs or the lucky shot of the blasted enemy.
I can't stand it anymore. That wagon will be my future, I know it. I can feel it.
I, Albert Narracott, will die out there on No Man's Land, blood pouring freely from my chest or wherever the bullet made its mark, and have my name on some plaque somewhere with every one of those poor souls who died alongside me.
My future will be to have burns and boils permanently mark my skin, and the lice and rats to feast upon and devour my broken limbs. For my uniform to be forever infused with blood and mud and for my eyes to reveal the horror that the war truly brings.
War is not like we were told about. This war is not what I signed up for.
There are things I know that will show within my dull eyes. The pain. The pure terror. The guilt. The cold hard reality that this war brings.
The reality is, I will never live to see the end of this war. I will never be able to see my Joey again, nor my family. Just like the unfortunate souls lying dead upon that God-forsaken wagon.
End note: Please review and thank for reading! :)