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It was the first time I had been in the attic. As I stepped into the attic for the first time, the air thick with dust, piles of boxes tumbled down like an avalanche, filling the space with a cloud of particles that danced in the dim light and groans of disapproval from the floor. Veils of cobwebs were strewn across the walls, shrouding the peeling paint behind, as I noticed a wilted flower nestled in an old, cracked vase. Slowly, I navigated through the maze of boxes, suitcases and broken toys, until I stumbled across a little black book. It felt oddly familiar in my hands – almost as though it had been waiting for me.
Tracing my fingers over the worn leather, I noticed faded initials etched into the corner: my grandfather’s initials. My pulse quickened as the stitches came undone, and the diary trembled in my grasp. I hesitated, knowing this might hold memories I wasn’t ready to uncover.
Yet, as curiosity swept over me, I opened it, and began to read...
Cautiously, I advanced towards No Man’s Land, ready for attack. Death seemed inescapable here. Everywhere, lifeless trees clawed at me, branches like talons, the last leaves turning to ammunition in the gale. Covering the ground was a blanket of corpses, rotting away, as the parched ground crumbled underneath my feet, desperate for water rather than blood. The once clear blue of the sky was now a harsh grey from the smoke of bombs, a smog that squeezed the soldier’s lungs and drove like thumbs into their windpipes. Abandoned guns and fence wires and weapons lined the floor, desperate for one more chance to kill. All the colour was drained out of the air – death ruled here.
There was a huge rumble, a blood-curdling scream – lightning shattered the darkness, sliced the clouds, attempted to touch the treetops with its misshapen fingers: thunder grumbled and growled, and the ground trembled. The relentless wind amputated a tree, and I heard a horrible screech, unsure whether it was the wind revelling its victory, or the trees screeching in pain.
Yet, through the darkness something caught my eye — a small, vibrant flower pushing through the cracked earth, defying the death that surrounded I; I couldn’t help but smile at its resilience. With new resolve, slowly but surely, I forged ahead, my eyes never wavering, my companions traipsing tentatively behind me. I was a tall, well-built man, slender but strong, in my army uniform, with one purpose only: to win.
Ahead, I began to see a big, amorphous mass of khaki striding towards me. The Germans strode forward in incredible unison. But I had to face them, so I took a deep breath, and decided to carry on-
BOOM!
The next moments were a blur of colour: a black tube, a streak of white, a blinding white, with red sparks and orange flames, distorting my vision, coming straight for me; a cacophony of buzzing and ringing that made my eyes want to pop out of my head; and the smell of smoke, so intense it burned my throat – it was as if I could not breathe, as if the atmosphere was too heavy for me, choking me, suffocating me, crushing me down beneath it. I wanted to scream but my mouth would not open; I wanted to run but my legs would not move; I wanted to live, but death was grabbing me with its grimy hands…
Hours later, I came to, alone in a ditch. The abrasive rub of the rugged crater walls on my back, the sticky sheen of sweat on my forehead, the metallic tinge of blood in my mouth, suddenly overtook me; and then came the pounding in my head and pulsing in my neck and the pain – oh, the pain! It was a jagged, snarling beast, tearing at my body from the inside out, gnawing at my bones, leaving me torpefied. Groaning, I peeked open my eyes, and was greeted by the burning light of the Sun, as its warmth dripped on me like hot wax.
“Hey, are you okay?”
A warm hand reached out to me with a flask of water. Hastily, I grabbed it and let the water gratify my body. As cold streaks of liquid ran over my throbbing arm, soothing my mangled flesh, I looked up to an unfamiliar face. His eyes smiled at me, warm and welcoming, and beneath his beard I could make out a comforting smile, and as I looked down I could see his uniform, big and blue and grey – but wait – that didn’t make sense, because our uniform was green, and my head spun even more as I tried to figure out who this could be, and my stomach churned as it suddenly came to me: he was a German.
I arose cautiously, confusion numbing my pain, as I tried to understand why this man had rescued me. As much as I searched for an undertone of malice, his sincerity was palpable as he stood before me, smiling, kind, incognizant to the insincere notions that plagued my head: but I’d only be a good soldier, doing my job, helping out my country; this was an easy target, and he was the enemy, so it was my duty to kill him – right?
As I raised my gun, I stared at his grey, ruffled hair, the wrinkles that dug deep into his rugged, stubby face, the blue brilliance of his sunken eyes. I imagined the shot ringing out, the recoil jolting through my body, the light in his eyes dimming forever as he glimpsed a future he would never see. I wondered if he had a wife, children, waiting for him – if he would embrace them with the same smile he looked at me with, with the same generosity he had saved my life with. He seemed like he didn’t really believe in war, as if he regretted every drop of blood he was forced to spill. If his uniform wasn’t on, I might have thought he was on our side. If the war wasn’t on, we might have been friends.
The cold metal of the gun bit into my hands as my duty and my scruples battled relentlessly, thoughts firing around my brain, the pounding in my head like the ghosts of gunshots – I looked at my gun, then at his cordial smile, then at my gun again, and my temples felt like they were on rifle fire as I stood undecided. The weight of the rifle in my hands seemed to grow heavier as the echoes of orders drilled into me by my superiors reverberated in my mind: ‘Eliminate the enemy.’ But as I looked at the man before me, just as scared, just as tired, a creeping doubt began to take root. Was this really victory? Would his death bring us any closer to peace, or would it simply be one more life lost in the abyss of war?
Closing the diary, I turned and looked outside of the window, sunlight laving our garden as I noticed the garden was in full bloom, flowers swaying in the breeze. Two old men smiled, talking endlessly and laughing at nothing particularly funny. One was my grandfather, and the other had brilliant blue eyes and a thick German accent.