Memoirs of a Former Hero

1

Clang! My shovel hits hard against a stone as I swiftly bring it down. My shovel, like my own self, has hit bottom.2

I sweep a dirty handkerchief across my brow, trying to wipe away the memories. I promised myself I would bury the remembrance in the graveyard of my lamenting soul. That I would never again think of those awful, bloody, agonizing shrieks of--3

No. I will not think of it.4

Why can I not forget? I can forget to eat lunch or forget where I left my shovel, but sixty years have not at all dimmed the horrifying memories that drove me to…this-- This cage through which well meaning but cruel people poke at you with sticks through the bars and condemn you for crying out. The insane asylum. 5

I promise myself every day I live I will forget.6

Yet how many times have I broken my promise to myself? Daily, hourly, continually, I am fighting, straining every muscle to forget, but I never can. 7

I lean against a tree and close my eyes. For the first time in over half a century I allow myself to remember. Perhaps only by ripping off the encrusted bandage and allowing the putrid sore of a haunting memory to breathe can it truly heal. Waves of nausea break over me. I am transported across the wings of time and distance to where I was—then.8

“Lawrence, how much longer do you think this can last?” Belden asked me, his eyes round with trepidation and dark circled from long nights of lying awake fearing to drift off for fear he’d never awake. “How long can WE last?” His eyes searched my face for words of comfort and encouragement, but found none. Belden was only a boy, brought here by the draft. Some men were never cut out for a life of war. Belden certainly wasn’t. Perhaps if he had been older, he would have faced things better here, but he was barely more than a child was, if not in body, then in mind. If he ever got out of here, which was doubtful, he would never be the same again. “Don’t worry, Belden!” I made myself say in a lighthearted tone although I could not bring my eyes to his pleading, starving ones. “Those Germans are probably twice as bad off as we are! They’ll probably run home crying any day now” Belden’s face told me that if he could, he would be the first one out of the trench running crying home to his mother. Poor Mrs. Belden. I could well imagine the grievous hours she must be spending, hunched by an old radio, listening to the reports and imagining her baby out there. If she only new how bad it really was…9

“What’s gonna happen is, the Germans are gonna have to pull out. I heard they got even less supplies than us. They must know they can’t win the war with such madness.” It was Helms who spoke. His big booming voice was probably being heard all the way across the trenches, taunting the poor Germans. “Poor Germans?” I asked myself incredulous at myself for having pity on the enemy. “They started this war!” I chided myself for my unpatriotic sentiments. Nevertheless, I could not help wondering what it was like to be over there, in their trenches. Were things really worse over there…but no, that could not be, could it? How could that be possible? This was as bad as it got. A deep, muddy ditch, hastily dug, was our refuge from machine gun fire and the elements. It did a poor job of it. Water collected at the bottom, along with rain and waste from the hundreds of men waiting in the mud for the most dreaded phrase of all…10

Dugouts along the trench wall were our shelters. They were cold, damp and miserable. All of us had trench foot--our feet were literally decaying ff our bodies from standing ankle deep in fetid muck all day. At nights rats came to gnaw at the rotting wounds. However, we were thankful to have rats, for that was what we ate. Cold drizzles fell, chilling us to the bone. Sometimes the muck froze on the edges, making ridges as sharp as glass to slice our rotting feet and give us frostbite as well as trench foot…11

“I know this should be the least of my worries, but I am so bored,” said Gerard, an active, athletic young man who in civilian life was a track star. He could hardly stand to be still a minute, and now there were hours of stillness—days even—weeks—months—years. “It’s gotten to where you can’t even remember what it was like to be home, in a nice little house, in a nice warm bed…” said Crowe, and at the mention of home, we all fell silent.12

Then would come the warning—“GAS!” We all would scramble for masks. Some of us got them, some didn’t. The ones who did not writhed in an agonizing frenzy, spitting blood and turning blue in the face. Then they were still. I couldn’t bear to watch. But I did. I despised myself for having had a mask. I should have been down there dead with them. They were at peace. They weren’t suffering any more in this hideous place. But as much as I wanted to escape this place, I wanted to live. I wanted to fight. I wanted to be a hero and come home to glory.13

That night, I awoke to Belden’s screams. Rats were eating him. I beat them off him and fell asleep to his sobs. I had nightmares that night. But when I tried to wake up I realized I was.14

The next day came the order I had been dreading. “Over the top!”15

I poised myself on the edge of the trench, nodding to the men to prepare them. They were ready. At the signals simultaneously ringing out from surrounding trenches, it was time. 16

OVER THE TOP!! I yelled at the top of my lungs, signaling them over with a wave of my arm. There was a scramble. I jumped over and ran toward the first barrier of barbed wire. Then, from across no man’s land, came the sickening sound I dreaded. Machine gunfire. Men all around me fell, screaming in pain. The men in the lead of the charge reached the barbed wire and were gunned down. They fell against the wall of spikes.. Other men scrambled over their prone bodies to escape the barbs. I heard screams, shouts, saw men fall and be trampled, then, the signal was given and I signaled the retreat. We turned and ran back to the protection of the trenches, leaving our hundreds of dead and dying to rest alone. How many times did I have to send these men to their deaths for a brief time, then again signal a retreat? It was my fault they were dying. I’m the one who signaled them over! “What if I break orders and don’t signal over the top next time?” I thought, “I know even if they don’t, that it’s fruitless effort, and a horrifying price to pay for nothing.”17

I was instantly sorry for my insubordinate thought.18

The men were straggling back amidst deafening gunfire. “The gunfire could almost drown out the voices of agony,” I thought. And eventually, they did.19

Now was the worst part. Who wasn’t going to come back? And if some made it back, who was going to come back wounded to die a long painful death of infection and gnawing rats?20

I watched, agonizing over every missing face. 21

Holmes, Smith, Vendervilden, Gerard, Helms…my friends. My comrades. I had eaten with them, stood against rain, rats, mud, slime, ice, trench foot and frostbite . I had gone “over the top” with them. And now they were gone. And what was the gain?22

All through the night came the groans, over and over. The men, wounded, were hanging over the barbed wire, sprawled in the mud, dying alone. And they were calling for me.23

“Lawrence, Lawrence, Lawrence” came the groans, over and repeatedly through the night. It was my friends Gerard and Helms. Killed but not dead yet, calling for the aid I could not give. Their voices burned into my soul, with each cry a little piece of me died as I felt that I was betraying every moment of friendship we had ever had. I was watching them die in my mind’s eye. They were pointing at me crying “Judas! Judas! Judas!”24

I woke up screaming, with a raging fever. Through my fevered haze I could hear them still calling for me. 25

”Lawrence, Lawrence Lawrence, Lawrence…”26

I straightened. I must stop thinking of all this. Those trenches are far far far far away now… or should be. In reality, they are only as far away as my bed, for every night in my dreams I can hear them still, calling me.27

Author notes

twilight

A contest entry

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    Comment Suggestion: What is your your first impression?
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Comments

1 - 20 of 20

  • scriptor
    April 15

    Edit | Reply
    In p.10 you don't need a comma in the first sentence.

    In p.11, 3rd sentence, you put "ff" not of

    lol in p.14... rats were eating him? I'm sorry but thats kind of silly and dramatic that they are eating him alive. Knawing at him or biting him perhaps?
    Also, in the same paragraph, "But when i tried to wake up i realized i was." Was what? Awake. (if that's what your trying to say then i really like that; it shows the horrific nature of the battlefield)

    In p.17 "They fell agains the wall of spikes.."

    One thing i notice is that you seem to be using quotations for your characters thoughts. Instead, you might either seperate it form the rest of teh paragraph or use' '... im not sure what they are called. It just gets confusing when you think that someone is talking, but it's just thoughts.

    In all this is good. I enjoy a war story every now and again. I like how you portray your character. He is apparently "losing it"

    I think that it would have been a really awsome ending if he had gotten up after the dream and just ran into the no mans land and been shot- just a thought.

    Good write

    Bret


  • Fruitilicious
    March 31
    Edit | Reply
    This was an excellent peice of writing, very descriptive and compelling. Thanks for entering!

    beginning: 4, language: 5, plot: 4, ending: 5, dialog: 4, characters: 4.


  • VelvetWings
    March 27

    Edit | Reply
    I wasn't looking for war stories, but this is a lovely piece in its own right. All I ask is that you add the option you chose into your Author's Notes, since I noticed that you didn't and it's rule 8 of my contest. Thank you.

    In paragraph 9, I spotted an error:
    If she only new how bad it really was -> 'new' should be 'knew'

    The story is well-planned and emotional, although you could improve it by checking for grammatical errors (I spotted some here and there, mainly punctuation problems).

    It's not quite what I was looking for for the contest, but thank you for the entry. It was nice to read, and I know that a war is a horror of its own kind.

    ~Sparrow


  • Maggie Kay
    March 22

    Edit | Reply
    I have read this and commented before. I still really like it
    my other comment is further down the page


  • Vampiric souls
    March 13

    Edit | Reply
    That is a haunting story that makes me scared!!! but in a good way!!! This is such a descriptive and stunning piece!!!
    Thank you so much for entering!!
    ~Souls


  • GrimDeath
    March 10

    Edit | Reply
    Very interesting and such strong descripitions. I couldn't even begin to wonder what it much have been like to go throw that. Great Job! Thank you for entering my contest and good luck!
    -Grim


  • SoundInkMusic
    March 6
    Edit | Reply
    This was a very blunt, honest look at the hardships of war and their aftermath. I enjoyed the story on the whole, though I would've liked to see a bit more, perhaps, of his current state; some more detail as to how he is influenced daily by his memories.

    Thank you for entering, and good luck with the contest.


  • Atticus Unanimous
    March 4
    Edit | Reply
    Opinion still the same.


  • lenore2010
    March 4

    Edit | Reply
    I really love how a sound was the first word. That was just brilliant. I felt like I could really hear it.

    Ughhhh the part about the rats... ew. Kinda perversely, I suppose, I loved this part in that paragraph "However, we were thankful to have rats, for that was what we ate."

    This part, though, was so haunting and meaningful, "Killed but not dead yet".
    It just made me want to shudder.

    The entire story was written in an amazing way, disgusting me with honesty and descriptions but yet compelling me to read on. Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful job. Thanks for your entry, and good luck!


  • Lois.Stone
    March 3

    Edit | Reply
    wow! thats such an awesome story!
    I would give you a fuller review, and I will later, but since there are LOADS of entries, I will stay how to improve ECT later!

    loisx

  • Maggie Kay
    March 1
    Edit | Reply
    great discriptions of the trenches discusting conditions tho. EW
    the discribtions of war painted very clear horrible pictures in my mind
    good conclusion
    well written
    thanks for entering :

  • Atticus Unanimous
    February 26

    Edit | Reply
    Oh my god. This so amazing. I'm crying. I'm actually crying. That in itself is worthy of commendment. I've been desensitized. The world wars are my favorite subjects and you have done justice to them. Thank you so much for this read.


    • ShimmeringMirage
      February 27
      Edit | Reply
      Wow this is the the most amazing compliment I have ever recieved on my writing! I am so honored you enjoyed it so much!


  • Clary--Selene--Tayy gold member
    February 13
    Edit | Reply

    hm...

    thank-you for your entry, i will be reviewing all of the finalists momentarily!


  • Jason Pulcher
    January 20

    Edit | Reply
    Very entertaining read. I'm not sure why you even posted this in the 'Need to Improve' group. It seems well written to me. I enjoyed reading this and will be looking foward to reading more of your entries.


  • RedHead
    January 2

    Edit | Reply
    Woah...so, so stunning. Ur writing is amazing.
    I've been studying the first world war for a while now, and its always interested me and horrified me. I went to Belguim and i went to some cememetry's, i went to old trenches, went 2 ceremonys, and it was all breathtaking. I sobbed like a baby afta the trip, it was so...overwhelming.

    Ive tried plenty of times to describe what it must have been like for them, to write a story or even a paragraph, but it neva comes out rite.

    Ur writing is superb, and i believe that this is one of the best pieces on conditions during WW1 i have eva read. Amazing!

  • BurntUmber
    January 1

    Edit | Reply
    Wow. This is a really great story! Incredible literacy and descriptions, realistic emotions, and a touching plot line. Really great job!


  • TNTrouble
    December 29, 2008

    Edit | Reply
    Aye...very good job. Having a bit of what tis called PTSD myself I can relate to this fellow's feelings and experiences quite well. This tis an excellent work.

    • ShimmeringMirage
      December 30, 2008

      Edit | Reply
      Thank you very much. Actually all the details were from listening to my Dad and Grandpa tell World War I stories--my Great Grandfather fought in the trenches and survived, but all these things really happened to him. (he didn't go insane, though. But he only had one lung afterward because of the gas.) But all the hardships he and the men with him faced in there really burned into my memory.


      • TNTrouble
        December 30, 2008
        Edit | Reply
        Thank you...that makes this piece even more powerful.

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