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End of All Days, a short historical drabble.NOTES: This is only a short drabble I wrote, when I had the feels. Sorry if there are mistakes in German, not my mother language. English is not also my mother language. Verdammt. So, have a good read!
I fell to the ground. My breath got stuck in my throat as I could finally feel the bullets in my body. They stung terribly, threatening to damage the flesh even more as I did my best to breathe in and out. There was simply no hope for me. I felt the warm, slick blood pooling underneath me, as it continuously oozed out of the wounds. When I propped myself up to see it, I saw the stains on my uniform grow larger. Everywhere was in blood.
I fell back to the ground, unable to sit up no longer. My head hit the ground hard, and tears welled up in my eyes.
Es tut mir leid, Mutti.
Yes, yes, I was going to die, and my mother, my poor mother was going to be informed about it, when all of her letters to me were brought back to her along with a mark that read "VERSTORBENE." She'd be devastated,
SweepAs soon as he stepped into the open field, he slung the minesweeper from his shoulder and pointed its nose to the ground. It was old, worn and heavy, and old and rough, calloused and breaking, and old. The metal between his hands was cold and chilled his fingers. If he was not careful he could step on the very mines he was trying to find. They would have to pick up the pieces of his body and to send the tags home where his wife would cry and hold his son and daughter close with nothing to show them of their father but a piece of metal engraved with "Ajeet Singh".
One sweep, than another.
This war had taught him to never trust open spaces. Open spaces were where the mines were planted, where Prets lay in wait. France was green and damp just like the uniform he wore. It had been days since he was separated from his unit, and now the Allies were breathing on his neck, searching for POW’s, searching for the enemy of which he was one. &
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