Making Her Proud

• Seraphine Abraham, Grade 7
• Short Story
• 2016

“Age.”
“18,” I replied.
“Height.”
“5.8 ft.”
“Next in line!”
That was three months ago. Now I am here crouched in the trenches, firing at every command. My mother is on the hospital ship, nursing wounded soldiers dawn till dusk. She said she became a nurse just to be near me. The last time I saw her was on the coast of this wasteland, waving at me when I got off the boat on my first day serving my country. I fear I shall not see her again. But there are better things to think about, like the fact I have so far survived the ‘War to End All Wars’, as my newly found friend Johnny puts it.
Today I witnessed something horrendous. Johnny’s bleeding body being rushed to the hospital ship on a thin stretcher. A few days later, I asked our sergeant if he could find out if a man called John ‘Johnny’ Hilton was alive.
“I’ll check the hospital records”, he said. I hoped he would come back with good news.
I soon got word from the sergeant that Johnny had passed away. The news hit me hard. I could never fight for the ANZACs wholeheartedly after that. Days, then weeks passed by. Still I mourned for Johnny and then one horrible day I had someone else to mourn for. My own mother. It was the worst evening of my life. A telegram arrived that fateful night. It was addressed to me. My hands shook so much, someone else had to read it out.
All I heard was;
Mr. Charles,
terrible…
death…
Trench Fever....
All the boys were sympathetic. I didn’t take any notice. I was too busy thinking about all she would have done after the war. Her big aspirations. She had big dreams of giving me a better life back in Australia. Waves of emotions rolled over me.
If I die in this detestable place, I want to make her proud. I want to do something that would make people realize that every soldier’s life lost on the battleground is significant. But most important of all, I want each person in this world to recognise why wars are repulsive. Why wars are detestable and horrible. Why should thousands of people’s lives be lost when something could just be conversed about between countries?
I have been fighting ever since the bugle rang. I was lucky to be put in the farthest line, even though I have had to witness plenty of deaths. Sergeant Jones is patrolling the back line today. I must focus on the battle, even though I would dearly like to just sit down and daydream about a better life. For one moment it was strangely silent. Then I heard two quick gunshots. The bullets whistled through the air, heading straight for Sergeant Jones. My heart was pounding. I blocked his body with my own.
“See you soon, Mother,” I whispered.