“Private Campbell!”
Archie stood to attention. His eyes widened as he looked around to see that his commanding officer had vanished. A dense grey fog filled the area. He could barely see a meter in front of him.
Archie looked down at his boots. They were polished to a bright sheen. He noticed the sound of shelling had stopped some time ago. The machine guns no longer fired. The shouting… the shouting had stopped.
He took a deep breath of the cool, damp air. He called out into the dark whiteness.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
He noticed the ground beneath his feet. Grass.
Bright green luscious grass in the Somme?
Archie fell to his knees. A terrible pain rippling through his solar plexus.
He began to weep, uncontrollably. Letting himself topple over, his face hit the soft grass.
He closed his eyes, and felt peace for the first time in many months.
He felt a strange warmth embracing him. As he opened his eyes he looked up and saw a strange figure, made of pure white light. It was standing there. Calmly.
“Hello?” he said.
It lifted one arm and beckoned to him.
He felt a strange energy filling his body and he stood up, grabbing his rifle from the ground as he did.
Archie slowly walked over to the being, stopping in front of it. It turned away from him and waved its arms, parting the fog.
A terrible ringing and pain filled Archie’s ears as the shelling began again. Men shouting. Blood curdling screams shrieking through the air. A machine gun began firing next to him, bullets whizzing by.
The being approached Archie, placing its hands on his ears. The sounds lowered, not disappearing completely, but becoming muffled.
He heard a voice in his head.
“You have your orders soldier. Attack the enemy.”
Archie’s brow furrowed, confused at where the words were coming from.
He looked to the rifle by his side. Raising it, he pointed it across the trench.
He spotted a German soldier in the distance. His distinctive helmet poking slightly above the trench.
Archie braced his rifle against the dirt ground above the trench and looked down the iron sights.
Waiting for his chance he took a deep breath in. His attention was diverted to a lone soldier running across…
“The mad fool!” Archie shouted out.
The soldier was running across No Man’s Land. Certain suicide. He had a stick grenade in each hand.
Archie panicked.
He aimed his rifle at the soldier.
Looking down his iron sights, he put his finger on the trigger.
BANG
The bullet whizzed out of his rifle. A small amount of smoke wafting from the barrel.
Suddenly a blinding light filled the area. A strange noise filled the air.
Archie looked around. Everything had stopped. Time stood still. Everyone, like bugs frozen in the ice of a winter lake.
He looked back to the soldier. A shining beam of light was coming down from the heavens.
He was astonished as he saw that where the soldier stood, just 20 meters ahead of him, there was now an elegant mirror, complete with a handcrafted wooden frame. Atop the frame was a Pickelhaube helmet.
Archie saw the being of pure light again. It stood next to the mirror and beckoned to him. He looked around again, just to be sure everything was still frozen then clambered over the edge of the trenches.
Cautiously he began to step toward the being and the mirror.
As he got nearer, he felt an urge to stand in front of the mirror.
As he did, he saw his own reflection. His eyes were weary, his face sunken. His uniform muddied and tattered. He was covered in mud and blood.
The being then stepped between Archie and the mirror. Placing its arms around him, it held him in a warm embrace. His vision filled with white again.
He noticed himself looking down at his hands. In both of them he held a stick grenade.
He was running. He was running across No Man’s Land.
Was he crazy?!
This was suicide.
Arno spotted a British soldier aiming at him.
He began to run toward the soldier with all his energy.
He heard a shot go off. Then everything went black.
Archie woke up in the hospital tent to a doctor informing him that he was to be medically discharged.
For the first time since the start of the war, nay, in his life, he felt his eyes had begun to see clearly.
I am a 21-year-old Author from Tasmania with an avid interest and curiosity in the world, asking questions endlessly. I’ve found a deep passion in poetry and writing, especially of Dystopian fiction and deep, meaningful topics like war, suffering and love. If I am to be described as anything, I’d like to be described as an articulate fool.
It is said: “Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak and to remove all doubt.”
But I say if one be a fool, it is best to speak all one’s ideas, such that they can be discussed, improved upon and corrected. The great thing about someone who can communicate their ideas, and understand the ideas of others, no matter the value, is he learns. Constantly. Consistently.
“The fool who persists in his folly will become wise.” – William Blake
