I do not know when I will be out of this hell, but what I do know is I miss my family and my life. The monotonous sounds of guns fill the air. I hear them in my sleep, when I eat, and before I fall asleep. The emotions are slowly being drained out of me. I do not feel sadness, when I fire on the enemy, I do not feel grief when I see my comrade struggling to survive, and I do not feel anger when I get screamed at by the sergeant. The war is changing the person inside of me, and I do not like the person I am becoming. I try everyday to keep the true me from fading away. The days are long and the nights are cold. I write so that I can keep these horrid memories of the war out of my head, and well to be quite honest, there is not much more to do in these here trenches.
The food here is nothing like my mother’s. I often find myself reminiscing about the hot sensation on my tongue. It is considered a luxury to have a hot meal here. I miss the life I used to have, although it is sad to say that I have become accustomed to living like a pauper.
For me the chores are way to keep my mind off of this hell I am living in. Today I had to refill the sandbags and repair the duckboards on the floor of the trench. When men do not drain the trenches, it makes life here even more dreadful. The trenches would become filled with water, and the walls are prone to collapse around us.