The Key Word Is "Remember".

For my writing class we've been asked to write a piece about Remembrance Day. Not having ever known anyone in any war it's difficult to get nostalgic about the subject. I don't agree with nearly every aspect of war, but unfortunately there are certain parts about it I understand. I understand it as a facet of humanity that will probably remain a perpetual reality until man ceases to exist.

For this piece I wanted to create a juxtaposition. In it we see man as a soft, terrified creature at the mercy of a beast. Platoons are turned into formless black aberrations, bombers become terrifying wraiths up above and every sound is given shape.

I am the Earth.
I am the mud and rain.
Limbs of flesh and steel, blood and grease.
Above me the sky flashes with man-made lightning
as great winged dragons spew fire and copper earthbound.
My men, the war machine that moves as one.
Thinks as one.
Survives as one.
Each day we see the sunrise is a day more than we thought we’d get.
From my foxhole I can hear the scream of bullets and men.
My gun, my heart.
Pump action.
There is no tomorrow,
there is no later.
There is now.
The carbon air suffocates the beast,
makes it gag and reel as it lumbers forth,
pressing the attack.
I am no hero.
I am not the Hollywood gunslinger.
I am 18.
I am terrified.
The space between me and my troops is 15 metres.
It is a mile.
The crack of gunfire and the hiss of grenades are the flex and pomp of this giant. Posturing and stamping the earth like a bull readying the charge.
I’d hope if it were not hopeless.
My foxhole.
A pauper’s grave.
I will not pray for there is no space for God between the tanks and trenches.
Remember me. Oh please, someone remember me.
Do not let this black-powder-conversation end with me as a footnote.
I will not be around to remind you.