Is this the end? by Akira Tipping

My eyes widen, fingers tremble. 

Time stands still. 

Drafted like sheep.

Questions swirl, a hurricane of emotions. 

The chaos of conscience.

I have no choice. 

The impending doom of war awaits...

How could they do this?

I won’t let them. They can’t take me.

Bang, Bang. 

2 loud knocks, almost as loud as my beating heart. 

They have come for me, like hunters stalking prey, never to be seen again. 

Is this the end?

Marching in lines, all in a monotonous rhythm. 

None dare to run.  

Prayers are silently said, calling on God to help.   

Gunshots obliterate the silence. 

All around me men drop like flies, blood flying everywhere painting the field red.

A vile river of blood. 

Orders are barked, yelling to retreat. 

Falling over dead, broken bodies I scramble wildly for the safety of the trench. 

Is this the end?

Out of the fog, a mad man stumbles toward me, his face hanging, eyes bloodshot and dripping yellowish liquid. 

Blistered, shaking hands, wield a knife. 

Stumbling towards me, hands outstretched like a starving man desperately trying to get food, he is slashing at my face. 

I turn away, not fast enough. 

The knife is suddenly cutting my clothes and throat like they’re made of paper, 

I see my comrades struggling through the gas. 

They won’t make it. 

I feel empty, like a void as my life bleeds out. 

Is this the end?