Duty

The speaker reluctantly goes to war, feeling it is their duty. They describe the horrors of the battlefield, with mud, constant sounds of explosions, and the smell of death. They see their fellow soldiers in a terrible state, and feel a sense of despair and weariness. They are terrified but continue to move forward into the gunfire. It was not my desire for war, but my duty, as I now find myself in this hell of a world. Boots almost disappearing in a sea of mud, with a ceaseless, macabre melody, a shrapnel and shell resounding in my ears. Putrid smells of death and decay infuse my nostrils, as I gaze at comrades whose bodies are faded and squalid, twisted and broken, like a child's once-loved toy now discarded. With sentient eyes, hauntingly idiotic, glare ghoulishly through the veil of grey mist. Drowning in lust and dignity, I am weary with sickness, the longing for home. Terror grips me, turns my spine to ice, as the command is given. Over the top world, I advance into the relentless thundering gunfire.