709 words

The mud, the rain, the water, the earth, the corrugated iron, the barbed wire, the clouds, and the noise. We are here, in this place, this trench, our sanctuary, our Hell. The world was mud, rain, and sporadic machine gun and artillery fire. We spent our days in the line eating, sleeping, standing to, grousing, and delousing. The battlefield was empty, desolate. Everyone ensconced in their labyrinthine defensive networks, trying to stay hidden, trying to stay alive.