Snow floated down like millions of battle ready troops, ready to waylay their position. Kristofs empty stomach leaned against the sand bag bunker. His machine gun lay in front of him, two-hundred rounds at the ready, not nearly enough. His hands felt almost frozen to the metal that he grasped with a death like will. He wouldn’t dare rest for a moment, though his fellow soldiers did not feel the same, smoke wafted across his pale mud splotched face, while laughter danced past the ears. At six feet three inches he was a splitting image of his older sibling. He had brown eyes, though his brothers of all but blood swore they were black as night. His face was decorated with many fine lines, wrinkles only a soldier could bare. Times dark shallow writings of one too many battles, one too many deaths…
His older sibling rushed freely into war against the enemies of Germany, he died two months later. Kristof never spoke of his elder brothers concluding hours, though he knew them by heart. He read that letter every evening shortly before his post ended in the dead of night, just as twilight reached its darkest hour, though never awaking to see that dawn. His brother’s friends described him like a triumphing hero. A warrior of old marching into bloody battle, falling before the endless onslaught. The laughter had died now; it had already been hours as a third of the company had gone to sleep.
Kristof relaxed as he quietly pulled out a worn piece of paper, unfolding it gently he began to whisper to himself noiselessly, the actual darkest hour of his many nights only moments away…
I have no name for this yet, I hope you enjoyed this little teaser. give me as much criticism as you like.
