Echoes of the Trenches

The mud wasn't just underfoot. It was in our lungs, skin,

and our very souls. In that hell, we held on to anything that

reminded us of home and light. Every shell that fell felt like the world itself

was being torn apart around us. Then came the whistle. A shrill,

final call to step into the mouth of madness. We didn't run for glory.

We ran for the man breathing hard right beside us.