War

• Eliza Pittard, Grade 5
• Short Story
• 2004

I stood in my unwelcome trench, standing on a dirty bench
I hold my gun up high, as I looked into the sky

I hear a scream of a man’s pain
I think to myself if this is war
What do I gain?

I stood there still holding my pride
I thought of my friend standing by my side

I heard the scream of a bullet and felt a searing pain
I knew I was dying and yet I was also to blame

There was nothing more to do but die in grace
I’d done my bit which was not a disgrace

The war was something
I would never forget
As I lay on the ground
My future was set