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you've been in the trenches for weeks now.
you're mortally wounded.
you're out of ammo.
your boots are stewing in acrid water, the limbs of dead men, the bodies of sated rats, and human filth.
you can see your skin, scaling over with only God knows what.
the smell burns your nostrils. it stings your eyes. it curdles your blood. it makes you sick.
it's the smell of death.
it's the smell of the dying.
it's the smell of the living, damned to die.
their moans assault your ears. they beckon, they entice, they whisper, they persuade. "join us. it will soon be over. lie with us, your troubles will seep from your pores as our blood drains from our gashes. put the gun to your chest and fire. make sure your aim is true, straight through your heart is the only way."
a sweet lullaby. a monotone mantra.

do you dare?

your eyes are closing. the drone is petering out. your senses are dulling.
and in the groggy, swampy abyss of your mind, you see a pinprick of light.

do you dare?

your legs refuse to hold your weight and give way. with a dull splash, you're on your hands and knees in the thick soup of decaying filth.
but the odour doesn't claw at your lungs. the murky water doesn't burn your flesh.
the light is wavering now. it's teasing you. it's mocking you.
it's challenging you.

do you dare?

you are a soldier.
you were trained to fight.
you were trained to kill.
you were trained to survive.

this is who you are.

you must push through.
you must carry on.
you must hold fast.
you must stay the course.

you will not give up.

your muscles screech in agony as you drag yourself though the mud. you battle to stay conscious. every corpse that floats into your path puts up as much of a fight as a live one would, and you fight back just as hard.
you see them, piled up against the trench wall.

the living dead.

their eyes rove listlessly, wide with terror. their hands shake. they support one another, collapsed over each other like bloodsoaked sacks of potatoes.

those beautiful, beautiful boys.

some as young as thirteen, the guns too big for their little hands, the uniforms hanging off their skinny bodies.
they were promised a life of glamour. they were promised excitement.
they were told that if they fought for their country, they would be men.

those beautiful, innocent boys.

and their mamas, their sweet, loving mamas sitting in their verandas, swinging away, singing a song, saying a prayer.
"oh Lord, please let my baby come home."
"dear Jesus Christ, watch over my little angel. see to it that no harm comes to him."
"let him know that I love him."

those beautiful, naive boys.

so young.
so pure.
so eager.
so misled.

a bullet buries itself in a brain. a trench knife finds its way through a forehead.
eyes dull. lungs cease. hands freeze. bodies slump.
hearts stop.

those beautiful, beautiful boys.

so fresh.
so ambitious.
so lovely.
so dead.

for what? why?

they had their whole lives ahead of them.
they had mamas who kissed sweet nothings into their soft, tousled hair. they had daddies who called them 'champ' and 'sport' and 'son'.
they had friends who traded baseball cards, hopped fences, and ate the neighbour's berries until their tongues were stained purple.
they had their first loves, little girls who held their hands, ducked their heads coyly, brought them flowers, pecked them shyly on the cheek.

why? for what?

and then, a noise, an all too familiar noise reminds you.
it's the sound of boots, stomping their way through mud.
it's the sound of men shouting and whooping.
it's the sound of guns being loaded.
it's the sound of the enemy.
what once drove fear through your gut like a stake is now only a dull thrill on your spine.
you used to shoot them without a care. they were the enemy. they were a pestilence. they needed to be exterminated.
but now, you've begun to think for yourself.
you think about your boys.
then you think about theirs.
why do they deserve to die? why must they be removed?
are they any less beautiful?
are they any less innocent?
are they any less naive?
don't they have mamas and daddies?
don't they have someone who loves them?

are they not human?

and that light, so small as it had been before, now beams with certainty.
it does not tremble, the way you do now.
the air around it vibrates.

and the light grows.

the light takes up more and more space. it pushes against the confines of matter.

and the air can't hold it down anymore.

the air beings to crack, and the pure, white light pours through.
pieces of sky tumble to the ground, leaving gaping white holes behind. the onslaught of enemies crumbles like shattered puzzle pieces.
the ground, the soiled earth you were once so sure of, falls away from underneath you without a care for reality.
one, two, three, four, five. you squeeze your eyes shut and count.
is this shell shock? am I going insane?
the scent of cinnamon and apples hovers over you, and you can feel warm sunlight pressing on your eyelids, trying to lift them open.

do you dare?

you do as it asks.
and as you lie back on your pillow, you wonder how you managed to have such a vivid dream.