Thoughts of a wounded soldier

You would think it a simple operation but with so many people in worse condition than you; exclusively you can do is sit and wait and wait and wait. This lean back is so bland, the only vibrant color being the military group casualty ruby spots on the bed linen. How those sheets frighten me... They swop the sheets periodically, every two days I think. They consume rear end the originally dirty linen, crisped, starched and bright white. Renewal, something that we cannot do resembling the sheets. If we ar dye, we are stained forever more. Stained by experience, stained by sin. Some sins can never be forgiven. Ive been hither a month, waiting... if only we had something to do, but then we do not feel like playing games anymore. The state of fight is nothing like I expected it to be, like the games of my childhood, with those atomic bet sol go byrs and the toy guns; no system was ever abide then. But this is reality. Reality. We thought the war would be over by Chri stmas, and it wasnt. We left happily and joyously to sound in that stink-hole called a trench! What fools we were! We know the trueness now, but we learnt the hard way. As we sit here our minds candidacy frantically seeking bema from the horrors of the war.

My nieghbour is from the same battalion as me. He stares at me with his eyes, his misfortunate red infected eyes. His body is covered in blisters - vexatious ones... But not as painful as his memory. I hear him screaming when he sleeps, it worries me greatly. Hes lucky that he didnt die but is it worse to live like this than live at all? I wonder if I scream in the night. Visions have come to me in the night, ! If you inadequacy to get a full essay, order it on our website: BestEssayCheap.com

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