December 20, 1917
Dear Journal,

It's terrifying, twisted.  A complete bloodbath, and the mud that surrounds me is mixed with a crimson tone.  The blood of the men who surrounded me, laughing, drinking, and playing card games.  Gone.  Gone is the merriment and lightheartedness.  I have never had such a heavy feeling in my chest.  That of grief, and illness.  It has rained.  Everyday,  For roughly two weeks.  However, time does not seem to pass in this hellish wasteland.  You end up losing your concept of time.  The only way time moves on, is how fast the bodies rot.  How long ago your comrade was killed.  How many moments ago, when you realized you could no longer imagine your loved one’s voices, how they felt, how they laughed.  It tears your mental health away, just as quickly as your physical health wears down.  I am one of the lucky ones.  At least, I would like to think that.  It’s difficult some days, when the trenches seem more like graves than anything else.  Simon says that agrees indefinitely,  It is amazing how strong he is, through these heartbreaking massacres, that occur every day. his brother was killed, the other day, by poisonous gasses, near squadron 5,  It seems that the more the war escalates, the faster mankind is out to murder each other, with weapons of mass destruction.  It is an extremely devastating notion, really.  I am counting my blessings (the few that exist, anymore) each and every night, it gives me a sense of security, that of contentment.  I can only hope and pray that there is a force above, who is embracing the fallen, with open arms.  Raindrops are becoming fuller, now hitting the journal parchment like watery bullets.  My bad, it is an unsettling analogy. There is rarely time to right any more, I have felt ill constantly, ever since the day the after effects of a nearby poisonous gas bomb hit our squadron.  I am so lucky to be in a group of men with spirits so tough, that their souls can never be extinguished, even if their Earth bound bodies are.  I am concerned about Simon.  He has been coughing, and gasping all throughout the night.  I just finished my shift, on watch, when I began writing.  How can the generals expect us to sleep when bullets are whizzing over our slumbering bodies.  I obtain a dreadful case of insomnia whenever I cannot cease worrying about something.  So I lie awake, listening to the unnerving, ill coughs of the men around me.  At this moment, the silence is deafening.  I’ve never really understood that paradox until I experienced it, the men had all held in their coughing, after a loud click just sounded in the distance.  We all think that a terror is brewing, this is simply the calm before the storm.

Journal.  It is raining bullets.  Not the watery kind.  My gut was clenching, as I tried to push other men out of the German fire, I am sure it is a plane, shooting down at us, with the addition of ground men.  I rolled, along with a few others to the side of the trench that wasn’t as visible.  We could not fight back.  We are heavily outnumbered, and I can’t stand the thought of mindlessly shooting the Germans.  They’re all misguided young men, who have families, and friends, and soulmates.  I only shoot to defend.  I will never shoot purely to kill, I couldn’t live with myself..  I am not sure if there is a God above.  No pain could match what I am feeling in my heart.  The sorrow is flowing through the smoky atmosphere, pellets of water rain down on us, and one man screeches in agony as a bullet penetrates his heart.  There is more blood, pooling in the filthy mud and muck.  I have to look away.  You must be wondering why I am documenting this tragedy.  Well, honestly, it is the only thing able to distract me enough.  Otherwise I would gladly put a bullet in my head.  I am attempting to visualise my darling, for it may be the last time I ever see her.  I’m trying to hold in my tears, but it is hell on Earth at this moment, or something pretty close to it.  I can’t face the scene before me.  I feel that I have contributed enough of my life, and my courage.  I am allowed to be frightened for a moment.          
                        Aren’t I?

i ii have beeen struckk…...
 

12-27-1917
Dear Journal,

Well, Uh, this journal has transferred ownership I suppose, but before you jump to any conclusions, (not sure if a journal can do that but…) Victor is alright.  At least, for right now.  Victor directed me to the journal in the his coat pocket, he whispered in a frail voice to,”keep him alive.”  Unfortunately, he was shot in the gut, 5 days ago, and went unconscious during the attack.  I’m so glad to see the old sport awake again, but the guy is incredibly pessimistic, and doesn’t think he’ll live much longer.  We were taken away to to medical tent, a couple yards back, when the Germans had to restock on ammo, the nurses and doctors who carried us were unbelievably brave. I was very fortunate, I was pierced in the elbow by a single bullet, but my buddy Victor, was hit twice in the gut.  I don’t want him to die away and fade into the group of those forgotten soldiers.  He is a bright guy, and smarter than I will ever be, so why am I alive?  The roles should’a been reversed, from the moment I met ‘em, I knew, “this guy,” I thought,”Is gonna change the world.”  He had that look of intelligence, ya’ know?  Sorry my handwriting is quite rough, my right arm’’s in a cast, and that’s my writing hand/arm.  I don’t think too much, but the war has changed me.  When those bullets are flyin’ above your cranium, it gets you thinking about what’s really important in life.  So, I guess, I gotta say goodbye, Victor wants to see you right now, haha.  G’bye journal!

Sincerely, Simon

I have no time for a trivial introduction, I need to cut to the chase.  I apologize if my wit isn’t top notch, for I was shot 5 days ago, in the “gut” twice, or so I am told.  I had never realized how short life is, until the day so many of my fellow soldiers were picked off mercilessly, their life, ripped out of their hands, and into the Germans’ hands…. and I could do nothing.  I know in my heart that they did not die in vain, because I will make sure that the world learns how wrong and dastardly the whole process of war is.  The leaders must learn from our sacrifices, that there is no benefit to humanity, when it comes to war.   Hopefully my wounds will heal quickly enough to see that utopia, when it comes.  It’s hard to hold onto life when I see nurses scurrying up to the doctors near my cot whispering,”fatal? What more can we do?  So much blood.”  I know they are trying to help, but the pain is enough already.  I have had enough.  I just want to be free of this mess, this sorry excuse for a makeshift hospital.  I wish to lay in a calm field, alone, and free of pain.  I wish to die alone.  Having people around me only makes the concept more painful.  Because seeing those concerned people makes you realize, “In order to die, I would have to leave these wonderful people, who want me to stay, more than anything.”  And that’s my will to live right now.  It’s weak, but with a will there’s a way.  And so my unremitting optimism returns, annoyingly, but it’s a bit of a relief, because being unremittingly optimistic is one of my most redeeming traits.  Or so, I think.  If I do die away, send this journal to my family and friends; I love you all very much, do not grieve, I wish there to be celebrations of my life, rather than mourning my death.  It may be difficult, but please, take care of yourselves and do not worry about me, any pain I am going through now, is minimal compared to the other soldiers, some were paralyzed.  Finally, my dearest Genevieve, I love you with every existing fiber of my being, and never stop smiling; for the world seems to glow whenever you do.  Never stop laughing or loving, because the Earth is fortunate enough to witness your grace, compassion, and wit.  I hope there will be many more journal entries to come, I wish to live on, and spread peace throughout the world.  However, if I have any chance of surviving, I need to rest.  Thank you journal.  You have been my faithful companion through all the hardships, and consoled my mental health during the worst of times.  I am eternally grateful for that.

Contently, Victor Charles Van Brooks