This was another piece of guiding writing, this time more specific, with sentence limits on each little section. I found it uncomfortable and difficult to write with my usual dramatic sentences (I do love a good dramatic sentence) so if you are confused by anything just comment and I'll explain.
A roaring, crashing, booming enveloped Stephen as he took another tentative step toward the blurred outlines of what could have been human figures. The noise around him became a constant, a background music to the theatre tragedy that had become his life. He barked a laugh. It seemed so surreal. This strange, horrifying new world that he had been plunged into.
Boom. A spike in the music and he was catapulted onto the solid ground with a thump. Some small part of him wondered what made the sound effect. He heaved himself up, just in time it seemed as bullets pelted where he had just lain.
Rasping, gasping, a broken toy of blood and bone reached up from the mire.
Stephen put a bullet in his brain, a single tear carving tracks in his mud-streaked cheek as the light faded from his best friend's eyes.
His pack seemed heavier with the weight of his friend's death. He advanced, almost as if in a dream, entranced by the onslaught. The crater he found himself in had high sloping sides and he realised he would have to use his hands. A bone, a finger, a twisted torso. They crunched under his feet as he clambered out.
Emerging from the crater, he studied the line of men behind him with a cold detachment. Step, bullet, falter, fall. Their advancement was impededby the bombardment of metal and bloated bodies. It was almost comical, the futility of it.
As if in slow motion, Stephen spun his head to face what he had caught in the corner of his eye. The body was like a china doll, cast aside and trodden on until a once perfect face was cracked and splintered like a tree Hal ed by a storm.
Nearing a stretch of barbed wire, he could feel the music of No Man's Land singing to him to carry on. The cries of the broken, the smashes of the shells, the spraying of bullets from machine guns.
He drew his wire-cutters and hacked at the wire with his fellow men. Others were trembling, shuffling, wide-eyed and fidgety. Snip, snip. Just as he was told.
To his right, a tangle of men and wire wailed and waled. Thrashing violently, bright splashes of crimson spattered those nearby, a great red target for the German guns. On cue, a shower of bullets rained down on them, ending the struggle of those creatures trapped in barbs.
The music rose. Oh, what a show.