World War One Journal

Again they come across me, back and forth, back and forth. The same men in uniforms, trucks, and galloping horses cross me day and night, going to one place or another. I do not know why everyone is in such a hurry, or why they are destroying me. I am persistently hit with hard objects and I fall apart. I do not know why they made me to take me apart; maybe it is not them at all though because they seem distressed when my pieces fall to the river below me.

I can not remember a day I did not hear loud shouts or loud booms and crashes around me. Even when I first appeared here it was dark and very noisy with booms and cracks ringing around me. It is also hard to see with a grey haze always in the air. I hear that it it the smoke from the weapons that are constantly fired. I wonder how hard it is to see in the middle of a battlefield. It’s like a never ending firework show around here. I hear all of the men talking about Huns. I’m not quite sure who or what that is, but the men make them sound evil and bad.

I am next to a small farm town that the men call Barastre. They talk about how beautiful the buildings were but it’s hard to see now. Half of the city is under rubble or is torn apart. They are even pulling fallen soldiers out of the debris. The loss of life is sad, but I heard there is a nice cemetery in the town where the soldiers are buried. It is nice to hear the hopeful conversions the soldiers have while resting on me. They talk of the end of this all, and the return to their homes and families. Although that means they will leave me, I can tell by their tones how much happier and peaceful the world will be at that time.

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