CALLS FROM THE TRENCHES

The sludge clung to every crevice. The constant shrill clang of artillery in the distance was a grim harbinger that life here was fragile. We huddled together, trying for solace in each other's company. The stillness between the barrages of fire was more oppressive than the chaos itself. Every whisper could be an foe, every shadow a hidden killer.

The muck clung to every crack. The constant deafening clang of artillery in the distance was a grim constant that life here was tenuous. We huddled together, trying for solace in each other's presence. The silence between the bursts of fire was more oppressive than the chaos itself. Every sound could be an threat, every shadow a hidden killer. Surv