text: Breathe Breathe, in and out. Just take another breath. You risk breaking the seal of your eyelids to glance around. The room's walls are stacked logs supported by metal posts. Their dancing shadows play out across the room, choreographed by the licking flame of a candle resting on the makeshift table at the center of the room. Boom! Another round lands close to the bunker, dislodging another avalanche of dust and dirt from the roof above. This is the 9th straight hour of bombardment. No matter how long you stay on the front, you cannot get used to it. The sound alone becomes a physical force. Fear blends into terror as screams accent the crescendo. You just want it to stop. Worse yet, you don't. When it stops, the real war starts. There is not a lot to do during the bombardment. You did what you could for the patients you have. Such young men. Most of them have never felt the cold bite of a shaving razor, yet here they lie. Bodies irreparably mangled by war. Their war is over but this fight will last the rest of their lives. All you can do is provide what little comfort you can in the form of unconsciousness. You will most likely not see another living soul until it stops. Then the trickle of broken bodies will start back up. A trickle becomes a wave, a wave a flood. You have long since passed the point of wondering why. Why do we hate? Why do we kill? Why am I here? Why me? Now you sit, almost in a state of meditation, not thinking, barely feeling. Hunger and fatigue are mere suggestions of sensations. But something feels amiss. Suddenly, silence. An eerie calm settles over the bunker. The absence of sound is more unsettling than the relentless bombardment. You strain your ears, waiting for the familiar rumble of explosions, the distant cries of pain, but there is nothing. The sudden quiet suffocates, pressing in from all sides. With caution, you rose to your feet, muscles stiff from hours of crouching in the cramped space. The candle flickered weakly, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch and sway with a life of their own. Your steps echoed softly as you approached the entrance, heart pounding in your chest. As you peered outside, your breath caught in your throat. The landscape was shrouded in a thick blanket of smoke and dust, the air acrid and heavy. The once-familiar sounds of war had been replaced by an eerie stillness, broken only by the distant whimper of a wounded soldier. Something had changed. The world outside felt different. The smoke nearest the ground rolled towards your feet, creeping along, almost in search of something, anything, to cling onto. As the smoke envelops your boots, it pulls back ever so slightly. It was only a little and you could have passed it off as nothing. But then it came, flowing much faster. Climbing your legs reaching further with a sickening desperation. It overtakes your legs, waist, arms, and head. With one sharp breath in, the smoke finds its mark. You feel the smoke flow down your throat, with an unnatural force it pushes its way in. Like one drawn-out inhalation, it fills your lungs. As suddenly as it came on it stops. With nothing but the lingering silence and distant whimpering. Your head feels heavy, lungs sting, with a deep aching. You are not sure what just happened, or if it happened at all. So you trudge on, walking the trench line. The bunker next to yours is empty, as is the next. You look around in confusion, wondering where everyone has disappeared to. The emptiness of the surroundings sends a shiver down your spine. Suddenly, a voice whispers in your ear, "You're not alone." You can't tell if it's real or just a figment of your imagination. The uncertainty and fear take hold as you try to make sense of what is happening. You cannot recall where you are going, or what you wanted to see. You know the silence is wrong but not why or how. You stumble as you walk, catching your balance just as you thought you were going down. With your next step, it's as if the floor is gone. You are in freefall! Darkness surrounds you, engulfing your vision until it's nothing but black. The only light comes from the faint glow of stars in the distance, but they are quickly disappearing as you fall deeper into the abyss. The darkness makes it impossible to see anything but the void below you. Your eyes strain to adjust, but all you can make out are faint glimpses of your body and the turbulent air rushing past you. The air is musty and stale, with a hint of burning and charred wood. It's suffocatingly thick, making it hard to catch a breath. Your mouth is dry, as if all the moisture has been sucked out of it. The taste of fear lingers on your tongue, a metallic tang that makes you want to retch. It is like being suspended in a void, surrounded by a silence so profound it seemed to echo. Everything was dark and cold, like being wrapped in a shroud of emptiness that stretched on forever. The air rushed by, swift and noiseless, as you plummeted into an unknown abyss. You can feel pulling... As if you are being manipulated or directed. The darkness murmurs at you, unintelligible and non-distinct. The redirection becomes more palpable, forceful, and angry. You find yourself moving down a corridor. The darkness becomes light, and you are not alone. “Just breathe,” you tell yourself. “Just take another breath.” Have you lost your mind? Were you hit? What is going on? You realize there are others, they are directing you, pushing you, not so lovingly guiding you. They are speaking, or at least you think they are. You cannot understand what is being said, it's as if they are speaking another language, or not a language but incoherent sounds. Who are these people? They look wrong. Arms and legs extended, almost spider-like. Hollow faces with black pits for eyes. They are misshapen, not so human. The way they move is wrong too. Jerky and uncontrolled, unsteady but determined. After losing yourself in awe, not sure how much time passed. You find yourself in a room. The room is dimly lit, shadows dancing on the walls from an unknown source. The bed is old and worn, with faded patterns on the sheets and a lumpy mattress. The chair is simple and plain, but its edges are sharp and seem to blend into the darkness of the room. The heavy door looms before you, the only exit from this strange place. You spend hours. No, days, or is it weeks, locked in the room. Your mind is mush, it's as if all logical thought patterns are beyond you. You struggle to understand the situation and events that lead up to it. After an instant, or was it an eternity, one of them opens the door and grabs you. They lead you down a white hallway. You try to talk to him, plead with him, anything, but to no avail. They won't listen or respond to you. Stopping suddenly and without warning in front of a door, you look up at the thing, or whatever it is, incredulity plastered on your face. With a whine, the door opens and you are brought before a group of them. You are forced into a rickety old chair and restrained. They seem to talk to you, or at you. You plead and beg them to return you. You just want to go home. The non-distinct murmuring continues. You can almost make out words. It sounds like coward, or covered. In pain, or insane. At this point, the things look familiar. You feel like you should know them or at least what they are. Are you high? You didn't drink... “What the fuck!” you say, again, and again. With a rough shove, they forcefully toss you out into the blinding daylight. The harsh sun instantly assaults your senses, searing your skin and blinding your eyes. As you struggle to adjust, a light breeze carries the scent of freshly cut grass, a cruel reminder of the world outside. You are brutally expelled from the darkness, left vulnerable under the scorching heat and merciless winds of reality. After walking for some time you come to an opening, a stone pillar in the center. In a moment of clarity, you recognize this place. You have been here before, but when? Where? Why? You find yourself tied to the stone pillar. But it's not stone, it's wood. “What the fuck?” The things are all around, their non-faces glaring at you. But they are not all around, just in front. Rather off to the sides in front, and a line of them twenty paces away. They seem to be pointing at you. Why are they so familiar? They are wearing uniforms, you think. Holding sticks, rods? All goes quiet again. One steps forward and the murmuring starts back up. Those words again, Cowardice... Insanity... Firing squad... “What the fuck?” you ask. You hear a crack and feel the weight of a truck on your chest. The first one is followed by several more. Your gut cramps and the sun dims. You feel something cold and wet on your face and taste copper in your mouth. “Just breathe,” you tell yourself. “Just take another breath.” But the air gurgles, pulled in from an unspace in your chest. You gasp , but are too weak to get the air in. The lights fade, and you feel calm for the first time in ages. Close your eyes and breathe. \*\*Prologue\*\* “Major! I have the report, it is ready to be sent to the family. Would you like to read it over first?” The young Lt asks as he hands over the folder. Opening up the folder, the Major skims over the report. “We regret to inform you,” it starts off. “Your son John S. Green was in a bunker when it was struck by an artillery round. Your son survived, but the enemy was on the move and was storming the defenses. In an incredible act of cowardice, your son ran from his hole and left his comrades to die alone. He was seemingly insane and not able to follow directions. After a short period of incarceration and a trial, your son was found guilty of cowardice. Immediately after the verdict, your son was executed by firing squad. His remains will not be returned home. He will be buried on site with his brothers in arms.” “Looks about right,” the Officer said.