Grande Rue Journal

April 17, 2017

Dear journal,

You do realize that I’m alone out here right? You, of course, are the only thing that I can really communicate with. There’s so much I want to say to the world, about what I’ve seen and what my predecessors have seen. Of course, however no one could listen.

I live alone, on a street, with no buildings, and no people. No one lives near me, but I see people all the time. Groups come by often, with their cameras and bored “fascination” with the tour guide’s speech of my lost village. They stop, take photos of my torment like I’m some sideshow attraction, there for their pleasure alone. I’m so tired of it.

Occasionally, some random person who I will never see again, will find a remnant of the past. Sometimes it’s a empty bullet shell, other times it’s full, however really rarely sometimes people can find larger left overs. They then will show their friends and take it home and leave it on a shelf. The history of my life slowly being taken away. 

If only those, Germans didn’t come and force the village to disappear. My predecessors each disappeared that way, because of the German attack. I have heard the stories, of how they came and forced the villagers out of the village and then slowly destroyed the town to the point where it was unlivable. Both the French and German left behind so many remnants of the war. Bombs, ammunition, etc. all of these have deemed the village, my village unlivable. 

I’m alone in this world. Tourists come, take some photos, and go, leaving me to rot in my lonely home. Remnants of the past of my village come to haunt me daily with the finding of the artifacts of why I’m so alone. All of this because of a war that shouldn’t have been caused a century ago, and the terror inflicted on my village of Bezonvaux.

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