Never To Become

• Claire O'Connor, Grade 7
• Short Story
• 2013

The rain started pouring down heavier than ever; loud gunshots were going off every second. My head hurt and my eyes had seen images that will never been forgotten, no amount of training had prepared me for the war. I was mentally unstable, I witnessed my best friend Geoffrey die before my eyes, in the clutches of my cold bloody hands. To this day the images haunt me in my sleep. I crawled my way to safety behind the poorly constructed walls and made my way back to a trench. I wanted so badly for the experience to be over; I wanted to join my friend’s soul up in the clouds. I have no family to return to. My mother had been taken and my brothers killed. There really was, nothing left for me to live for.
But I refuse to take the cowardly way out of it. I will fight with the strength I still have. I will do my country proud and fight with injury or no injury, I took my gun and the weight of it astonished me. It took great effect on my shoulder. I aimed carefully and pulled the trigger, aimed and fired, aim fire, aim fire. My rage was continuous, I was out of control. Avenging the souls of my loved ones by killing the loved ones of my enemy. I realised I was no better than them; exhausted I paused and looked out over the battle field and saw our beautiful world turn ugly with grief. The skies were grey. The rain was pouring, loud shots being fired every minute with the sounds of soldiers crying for help, crying for their loss and crying out to be heard. It was the result by two men who couldn’t decide on leadership so they had to start a war that would kill the ones they would lead. I hope neither of them win, I hope they realise what they have done to the civilised matter that once was. I hope they are haunted for the rest of their miserable lives.
I couldn’t take what I had done, or what had happened, or what was going on. It was too much to take in all at once. I fell to my knees and cried. Not only for myself but for the hope that the world would learn from their mistakes as it is our entire fault that suffering occurs. I sat there, waiting for an answer to occur to me. But nothing happened, no answer, no life, no shame, and no happiness left. All I wanted was to escape. So I did the thing I promised myself not to do. I hesitated, thinking about the pain about to happen. I stuck my hand up, above the trench and kept it there, waiting for the suffering to kick in. Then, all I heard was one single gun fire go ‘bang’, I felt everything and more. I slowly brought my wounded hand down from above the trench and held it tightly trying to stop the circulation of the blood. I cried out for soldiers to help. It was a while before they finally came, so I sat there and took pity on the crumbling world.’
I was sent home and never went back. I was scarred for life; images still haunt me from that experience.
That was a diary entry I wrote 78 years ago, when I was sent home from the war at the age of 23. When I got back I sat there and wrote about what happened, so I would be reminded of what not to become.