Dear Diary,
It’s Christmas day, December 25th. We’re in France. We just moved into the trenches. It’s 11pm. Guns are firing, bomb shells are being flung everywhere and
smoke rises. Dark shadows lurk in
the distance of the battle field like wandering ghosts.
Kris and Nathan have been left out
at sea. It was horrifying seeing
their row boat flip backwards and people screaming.
The trenches are like heaps of
chewed up pieces of gum, in puddles because of the mould and snow. Heaps of soldiers are wearing gas masks
because they don’t want to risk being attacked by gas grenades. Heaps of soldiers are quietly singing
about Christmas and wishing they were with their families.
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