February 2nd (War)
We stood united.
Overhead, the sounds of bombs and bullets reaping through the air; the sun blocked out by a vehement cloud of ash. We glanced at each other and swallowed whatever hope we had left, and then...we ran into the fire.
The way the bullets whipped the wind was reminiscent of the way rain feels on the skin in a fierce gale; perhaps we could just pretend we were running in the rain: just like during training. I never bothered turning around, never bothered looking back, never bothered caring about my life or my death; this was hell, and I had reached it regardless of whether I was still alive or not.
Every step meant a new casualty, every second meant the chance of it being me was raised. We continued. We were an army of millions, and every second the number dropped. Hundreds of thousands to thousands, to hundreds, to tens, to us. We made it; we survived. The prize? Shelter. The noise was unending, the crashing of shells unto the muddy floor sounded as if fireballs were raining from the sky. In a sense, that was exactly what was occurring.
We waited in that pit for hours, waiting for the barrage to end, waiting for the flames to die, waiting...waiting for the silence to consume everything.
