I do not understand why there is so much hate in this cruel world. Writing this, my cold, hard hands are shaking in the dim light of a rusty oil lamp, trying desperately to block out the ghastly gunshot fires that ring through my ears. I am but a seventeen year old man, not even a man, a boy. Alas, even at such a young age I am fighting for my country, Germany in this horrid war. I do so wish that each country could just get along in peace and harmony, yet I know that this is but a magnificent dream. My father, a brave and courageous man, was (unlike me) willing to go out and serve his country. I remember the day my family and I heard the life-changing knock upon the front door of our quaint little house.
It was an odd day in our small village, it was only a few days since the war had been announced, however I had a gut-wrenching feeling in my stomach; I could sense that the normal day would have a more sinister turn. I recall my mother calling me from downstairs, and freezing in my tracks when I hear a low, gruff voice, which I could tell was not that of my fathers. I was sure my ears were deceiving me, as I heard murmurs of "war" and "sons" and they needed men to recruit. Of course, my father being who he is, stood with dignity and pride as he accepted this horrible twist of fate. But I was sure at that moment I had shrank to the size of a mouse. Small and helpless, I had no other choice. "Yes" I squeaked out, and before long, the journey to seal my fate had begun.
A few months later, here I am, trembling with fear. My father, Hank was his name, passed on just a few weeks in, his heroic actions were cruelly wasted as he was plunged into a world of darkness, leaving me on my own to face the demonic drums of hell. Each time I hear a cry or scream, a spider of anxiety crawls along my spine, whispering my worst nightmares softly into my ears. My mother of course was devasted at the loss of my father, as was my nine year old sister, Lucy. Writing to them after this tragic occurrence was worse than being stabbed repeatedly with a blunt blade.
I saw as soon as I received the letter, it was stained with my mothers tears. Both of the men in her life had disappeared, one of them was to never return again. I quickly realised I would have to stay strong, for my family, and to not show how much I was hurting inside. I still hurt to this day, but I have seen too much death and destruction for one silly war, thinking about the situation brings a tear to my eye. To not be there and comfort my mother at this time was extremely hard, but I am always right beside her, no matter what.
However, I must rest, strength and willpower is essential in this game that is life, I hope my children to come will never have to face such a travesty that I have witnessed. One thing I do know, the few people that remain alive when the war finally succumbes, will never be the same again.