Mª Jesús Peñarrubia, 4º ESO A
7th December, Yprès 1915
I don’t know for how long I’m going to stand this. Every second could be my last second, and sometimes I wish they were. I still remember how happy I was for serving my country, for fighting. I was a dumb child who dreamed with glory, and that must be so wrong, because now I’m in hell.
I hear people crying in pain. I see corpses of good people, and I wonder when is it my turn. I try to Wear good shoes and coat, but it it’s not enough, I feel it. My toes are getting dark red, even purple, it hurts to breath, and I have a cut in my left arm, a really infected one. The first thing I smell is shit and putrefaction. The first thing I see is a rat, a dead body, my own mud tomb. But the first think I think about, that’s always you. You and peace, peace and you, as the same thing. You don’t know how hard I miss you, my little personal peace.
At the beginning, we did some operations, some fights, but this is getting more and more static. It’s not how they told us, the greatest danger is not a bullet but garbage, illness and cold. And, while we starve and die and kill each other, the ones who started this, the ones who are behind the horror keep safe, thinking about us as numbers, as strategies, as chances to become ever richer. We work for their peace, we fight for their war, and we die for their will. For them is a game; all they can loose is money, and , if they lose it, we will be the real damnified. I’m here, killing people with past, with dreams, with beloved ones, just for nothing.
I’m probably going to die here, I’ve seen stronger men dying for much less. I like to think that your love is like a guard angel, but deep inside of me I know it’s just luck, and luck runs out. But I want you to know that I love you, and that you give me strenght. I hope this lettler gave you strenght, too.
From Will who loves you…