He looks at his rusted old helmet with the ragged threads and the engraved number that’s etched across it: Pvt. Number 04960204. As he sighs out the remaining days of his life the shit goes with it, and the cigarette smoke. He lifts his hand to his forehead and rubs his temple – his fallen temple. The scars of forlorn will always be etched into his mind, just like the mere number of himself within the ranks. He presses hard against his knee and forces his tired back up, while whispering to himself the sweet sincerity of his battered strength. Watched by a thousand eyes in the dead man’s marsh; a thousand vacant eyes eclipsed by the void of themselves. Yet, he bears down on himself and stands tall, with gun in hand, and a soldier’s grimace. He takes one last, long, drag on his cigarette and flicks it to the floor, then sighs deeply. Taking his Luger and running his forefinger along the barrel, he quietly thinks of the lost souls for the worthless cause of distant battles. Then, slowly breathing, he places the barrel by his head and slowly plays with it upon his stricken grief. He squeezes the trigger and drops to his knees; time stops. The angels stare and wait for him to hit the floor like the last raindrop of the storm, whilst supple smoke rises with the air, and moves as a stagnant block through the breeze. It slowly disperses, and leaves a dead silence within the four walls of the bunker. He lays motionless on the floor. The last ray of light shines through the cracked window, and along the floor of the stone room; it illuminates like the crimson sky of tomorrow’s dawn, and radiates the sallow eyes of the fallen soldier. He was lost within his own war. 08/05/07 - L. A. Matthews
Beautiful 'Mise en scene' Luke. I know you didn't write this as a play but you've really managed to create an atmosphere. The disposition of the character really comes through as well. This is a nice piece of work.
Thank you, Raska! Perhaps the Mise-en-scene rubs off from my Film Studies course? What do you actually mean by it though?
I mean you've managed to create a scene without actually describing the surroundings, it's very clever. "Watched by a thousand eyes in the dead man’s marsh; a thousand vacant eyes eclipsed by the void of themselves". A beautiful yet harrowing piece of literature, I can feel those eyes, alive, yet I'm aware of the countless dead bodies which can't even be seen. Did you include the luger as a signifier that this soldier had killed? I noticed that his helmet indicates that he is English/American, yet his gun is German. I haven't yet touched on what this piece means metaphorically... I'm not that bright
Yeah, that's actually an error that I forgot to take out. I couldn't find a ID number for a German soldier. If you could help me out, that would be greatly appreciated.
Apparently they kept their ID very secret, which is probably why you've found it difficult to find one. It's likely that it'll be an 'M1935 Heer Sturzhelm'(army helmet) if that's any help.
too much blood, flowing like rivers, another shot fired, another innocence lost, so much crying, for to much dieing, people filled with hate for fellow countryman, another child dies because a government lies, people shouting names, but no one replies, brother, sisters, husbands, wives, innocent people losing lives. Bleeding, pleading, crying, dieing. The truth is suppressed by political unrest. When will it finish, when will it end, the heartache of loss never will mend...
Great beat to that. So great I read it in my head as a rap. All of your writing flows really really well.
