Diary name: Harmony Thompson

Diary Date: 12/1/1917

Nationality: European

Dear Diary,

So many days are passing by, yet still I am hiding under these filthy trenches… I feel like a coward, an animal, the chilling heartless winds are the only thing by which I can guess that the cruel winter is on its way… this reminds me of a time when I was merely a 10 year old child I remember that my father used to tell me that by even uttering my name "Harmony" brings him peace and the silent music of joy, which he often said was like my personality, but, now I am not quite sure of anything anymore, and now I don't understand what he actually meant, No matter how hard I tried I didn't find my name to be like me. I call my name aloud softly under my breath; I can't seem to find any joy even though I tried more then you can imagine, all I can hear is pain and hurt! Peace? Ha! That would indeed be quite an ironic laugh! Why? A dead man lies next to me who seems to have no flesh remaining in him, the young man who is sitting next to me has only a right arm, I feel a chill down the spine when I look at those dark swollen eyes which shows too much pain to be able to bear, the sadness is now over-shadowing his rather kind eyes, we are looking straight at each other, not speaking yet saying everything that is not even explainable. I glance around quickly, looking at all the young men-yes indeed men, I was the only women there, but, no one seemed to even notice me, seemed like I was almost among the dead mortals, yet, they still seemed so alive during each battle, I didn't even seem to recognize them. Indeed I sometimes laugh when I think that we were actually so enthusiastic about going to this brutal war. I still remember that when I was a young girl I told my brother about my love for adventure and war, he had looked at me for what seemed to be a long time, then told me that I was out of my mind, and that it was an impossible thing for a women to do, I despised those words so much, I even hated my brother for those remarks and then I had ran out of my house, leaving all the luxury and love my family had given me. I thought I was so free, I wanted to scream out to my brother and tell him how wrong he was… but indeed it was too late, and I will regret this day forever, I know my brother will never forgive me… I don't even know if he is even alive. I look around myself once again, and see all these very young men… about 13-14 years old, who had been sent here and they had no clue what was lying ahead of them, I despise it, Humanity disgusts me, the war disgusts me, I feel disgusted towards…myself… I know that some are hoping for a painless sleep which will never wake them up again, releasing then from the wicked painful war. Not being able to handle it, I look at the dead man once again, part of me wanted to run away and scream out, while part of me just wanted to forget everything and ignore it, both of them seemed ridiculous to me now. Not even wanting to, I imagined myself being in his place with no one to help or hear me while I struggled through the darkness unnoticed, while my families were praying for my safety… I can't handle it, for what seems to be the first time tears roll down my cheek, as I softly mutter something to the lord, even I can't figure out what I am saying, I did not even try to. I wish I could run out of this cage-so called trench… which I could run out and end up in the arms of my mother-as worried as always, blurting with questions…I pray softly for my loved ones in which a few men join in, pinching and themselves to stop themselves from crying out. I pretend not to notice, as we finish we look up at each other for only a second, but there seemed to be a lifetime of understanding. Even though I hated the war for the numberless amount of lives no one can pay back, I was also proud for the amount of lives I was able to save. I felt like I was in the top of the world. Every morning I woke up staring at my hands, I knew these very hands were going to kill loads of human…I cannot seem to understand the concept of different worlds, after all, I am sure years back we used to share the same land. I am asking myself and the world… what is wrong with us? I think about the children who are here, whose parents are eagerly waiting for them, praying softly every time they came upon their child's belongings or memories… the husbands… the lovers… who are here fighting, while their wives, and the love of their life cry desperately hoping for a chance of life, and a happily ever after ending. I remember my mother used to say "Every cloud has a silver lining". I want to believe her desperately… but I just cannot seem to find that silver lining anywhere, all I can find is dark clouds with innocent, bloody, clueless bodies that lie around everywhere we look. I look at a father of a child behind me who lost his kid forever and cannot seem to pull him back…he says, that's his reason for fighting, and he is glad to stand up bravely and broadly until the end. I feel jealous… jealous of him having this one happiness of him being able to fight for his child… yet, I have no happiness… Just an empty dark hole in the heart… I smell the air softly, it seemed to choke me… the only thing I could smell was dead bodies and blood… I couldn't breathe, I felt as if I was going to throw up. I often wonder how I managed to dodge those life-taking shots, and poison gas… Ah! Poison gas, one of the most amazing and extremely dangerous weapons that used to vary upon our miserable luck, and the only think that could save us was the wind. Wish I could be the person to stop everything, but let's face it that is incredibly impossible, how I wish I could wake up and see that it was all a horrible, elongated lengthy dream, but as always that was just a wish and will always remain that way. Then all I can wish for now is…death…


Note: I love to write for sure, and I am a very emotional, sadly all my stories are usually depressing and I am gravely sorry if that bothers you, I recommend you not to read them, of course I will love it if you do. I write from my heart becoming one with the characters and the moment, as if I am a mysterious anonymous character in the story. Also, writing happy stories seems a bit fake/unrealistic for me although I enjoy reading them I cannot write them even if I try, a author should write from the heart and that's what I believe. I am not "emo", a really happy person actually, and prefer not to put people under categories XD. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy reading the stories as much as I enjoyed writing them!