Hi i am from the UK and retaking my GCSE'S I would love to get a idea of how well my essay will do if anyone can give me advice.
we were asked to write a story about anything.
As I sat there trying to get some sleep, I thought to myself "Why the hell did I sign up for this?" If I had known what it was going to be like I would never have signed up. I was under the impression it would have been more like playing soldiers; like when I was a boy down at the river side, with sticks as guns and pine cones as grenades, when if someone died they got back up to fight again another time. No one gets up here.
The things I have done would be enough to boil the souls of the people who were there to witness it. It killed mine. We are forced to walk, run and crawl through a world of death and disease. After some time you get used to the smell of the the hundreds of thousands of rotting and decomposing corpses scattered across no mans land, diseases like trench foot and dysentery. There is one thing that still makes me shiver every time I see it; the eyes of the dead men, women and children with the pain still tattooed on their faces for the world to see, eyes that seem as if they are looking deep into you as if they were judging me as a person. I hope that they were able to find some good in me.
I could never describe the people who fight with me as my family. There are no words to describe a person who has saved my life on countless occasions, to have theirs ended the next day. I can still see them in my arms as they are fighting to breathe through a mouth full of blood, spluttering messages for us to tell their loved ones and family if and when we ever get home, before they can't fight any more and go limp. We have no time to bury our personal saviour. All we can do is put his ground sheet cape over him, take his ammo and weapons and then move on to our next objective.
Some people class us as brave heroes, I think they are just trying to put themselves in a situation whereby their war could continue.
When I try to sleep, I just imagine that I am back at the river where the iron works are. I imagine that the sound of bombs is the bangs of the workmen working on the iron, and that the hiss of the bullets going overhead is the sounds of bees and dragonfly's. That the mustered gas is clouds rolling over the hills but there is nothing that I or anyone could imagine that would make the bone chilling sound that come from the mouths of the injured men before they die.
I like to imagine that I am still walking along the river bank smelling the wild flowers that grow there, and blanket the sides of the river bank like the cobbles blanket the streets of London. I like to imagine that I am still playing soldiers with my friends who are all now dead. I like to imagine that the swans are coming in to land on the crystal clear water, the ripples and spray caused by their landing is creating a rainbow effect with the sun. As I am walking closer to the iron works the sounds of banging gets louder and louder like a drummer boy walking towards you in a parade. Then all of a sudden there is a boom that I have never heard of my river bank before, a tree branch has fallen into the water by me and covered me from head to toe in water.
It was then that I woke up to find the boom was a mortar shell that had landed right by where I was sleeping "if you could call it that" and killed the man sleeping there. The water that had covered me in my dream was the blood of the soldier.
Any and all feedback would be grate.
we were asked to write a story about anything.
As I sat there trying to get some sleep, I thought to myself "Why the hell did I sign up for this?" If I had known what it was going to be like I would never have signed up. I was under the impression it would have been more like playing soldiers; like when I was a boy down at the river side, with sticks as guns and pine cones as grenades, when if someone died they got back up to fight again another time. No one gets up here.
The things I have done would be enough to boil the souls of the people who were there to witness it. It killed mine. We are forced to walk, run and crawl through a world of death and disease. After some time you get used to the smell of the the hundreds of thousands of rotting and decomposing corpses scattered across no mans land, diseases like trench foot and dysentery. There is one thing that still makes me shiver every time I see it; the eyes of the dead men, women and children with the pain still tattooed on their faces for the world to see, eyes that seem as if they are looking deep into you as if they were judging me as a person. I hope that they were able to find some good in me.
I could never describe the people who fight with me as my family. There are no words to describe a person who has saved my life on countless occasions, to have theirs ended the next day. I can still see them in my arms as they are fighting to breathe through a mouth full of blood, spluttering messages for us to tell their loved ones and family if and when we ever get home, before they can't fight any more and go limp. We have no time to bury our personal saviour. All we can do is put his ground sheet cape over him, take his ammo and weapons and then move on to our next objective.
Some people class us as brave heroes, I think they are just trying to put themselves in a situation whereby their war could continue.
When I try to sleep, I just imagine that I am back at the river where the iron works are. I imagine that the sound of bombs is the bangs of the workmen working on the iron, and that the hiss of the bullets going overhead is the sounds of bees and dragonfly's. That the mustered gas is clouds rolling over the hills but there is nothing that I or anyone could imagine that would make the bone chilling sound that come from the mouths of the injured men before they die.
I like to imagine that I am still walking along the river bank smelling the wild flowers that grow there, and blanket the sides of the river bank like the cobbles blanket the streets of London. I like to imagine that I am still playing soldiers with my friends who are all now dead. I like to imagine that the swans are coming in to land on the crystal clear water, the ripples and spray caused by their landing is creating a rainbow effect with the sun. As I am walking closer to the iron works the sounds of banging gets louder and louder like a drummer boy walking towards you in a parade. Then all of a sudden there is a boom that I have never heard of my river bank before, a tree branch has fallen into the water by me and covered me from head to toe in water.
It was then that I woke up to find the boom was a mortar shell that had landed right by where I was sleeping "if you could call it that" and killed the man sleeping there. The water that had covered me in my dream was the blood of the soldier.
Any and all feedback would be grate.