6. WW1 2
This one was a guided piece of writing, though it was just a general outline of plot and length. It was originally in two sections but I've combined them here.
Even with all their layers, the unrelenting weeping of the clouds soaked through to the men's cores, drowning their spirit. Sweat and spit and tears and rain all merged together, a pouring of pain. Trudging ever onward, they felt the ominous clouds weighing down on them.
A soft voice whispered the promise of better days. Then it grew into a glorious song, an imperfect voice in a perfect melody. Another joined it. Then they were all singing, a chorus of voices swelling with the hope of distant glory. The greenery around them faded to a few scraggly, twisted black trees but they still sung. They were ankle-deep in mire but they still sung. The front loomed up. They were silent.
Sinking deep into the ooze, the men plunged each foot down until they were up to their thighs. Other soldiers, soldiers who had arrived there the day before, looked upon the newcomers with pity. After only their eyes were haunted. They looked older. Worn.
The men huddled together in fearful awe of the trenches. One squealed as a rat scampered by, then hung his head in shame.