[Fiction] Ode to Twilight (WIP)

[MasterWriterUK]

An introduction:

This peice is incomplete, which is why I have titled it as a WIP (work in progress) It opens with a poem and then continues into the actual story. I have decided to use a rather difficult style: second person perspective. So due to this, the story may read oddly while I work on the kinks and difficult wording.

Now for the WIP.

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Run our lads,
Run our lads,
Run our lads onward,
Across the plains of sand,
As the mortar shells thundered.

Through IED, under RPG,
To the ditches - flee,
None of our troops they see,
So the enemy wondered.

Fix bayonets, our heroes yelled,
There's the foe to be felled,
These lands are total hell,
Broken and sundered.

Run our lads,
Run our lads,
Run our lads onward,
Through irrigation veins,
Across the open plains,
The foemen shoot in vain,
The range - they had blundered.

With incoming fire zipping by,
Any brave hero - could die,
While we all wonder – why?
Such a war - had been conjured.

Honour - their hero’s cry,
For their friends - who die,
We should not ask – why?
Only pray for the injured.

Chapter 1




Heavy breathes. The trampling of exhausted feet to ground, the ache screams at the ankles and the numbness sets in. Not enough time, too busy running; faster, faster. Rest now, but only for a while against the building wall which shall not offer respite for long. Subtle thuds like a rubber hammer against a wooden post, the sound of air zipping by your head. Run, RUN!

It all goes dark, briefly. The ears violent ringing sound throughout the skull as it rocks around the neck in a daze. A blurred image slowly comes into focus with garbled noises from ruptured ear drums. A soldier whom’ hand had grasped upon a shoulder, shaking firmly to life the dazed mind.

“Are you ok?” his face was clenched up as if shouting.

Body stirs as eyes roam aimlessly blinking the blur away. Hand rose to head to tap at the ear where a helmet once settled upon.

“Yeah, you’ll be fine” the soldier grinned patting the shoulder that now escaped his grasp.

“Fuck me - that was close!”

Eyes followed the line of a wall as head followed them around to one side; body leaned against something firm, presumably the rest of the wall.

“Too close, thought I was a goner”

“No chance! You owe me a beer” he passes the line of sight leaning his head over the edge of the wall.

Hand clenches at the cold grip of rifle which hung heavily from the shoulder, body aching and coated in dust. Legs stagger as they straighten out, using the wall as an aid to stand, dizzy. A hand rises to mop the brow, bloody and scratched flesh stinging from the salty sweat and dust. Hot, too damn hot. Uniform drenched in sweat, shoulders and back ache. Feet stew in the heavy and tight leather of boots. Hot, too hot.

A quick succession of popping sounds clatter through the eardrums, the sound was close; too close to just lean against a wall. Something, must do, something. Fingers squeeze firmly to the grip of a heavy carbon rifle and heart begins to race, blood churning through the veins compels the leap from behind the remote safety of cover from the wall and propels feet toward the encroaching sound.


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That is all I have thus far, which already needs alot of work. So please comment creatively and constructively.

Thankyou.