The shelling never ceased as winds whipped across my exposed and frosting nose. My lower half sank deeper into the snow which built up rapidly in the depths of this sadly dug fox hole not so far east of enemy lines deep within the dying heart of the Ardennes forest.
Daggers of ice disguised as snowbound kisses grazed my neck leaving me with the desperate allure of my lover’s lips. How has it been so long since I’ve looked into her eyes?
Oh how I long for her eyes.
If the tips of my fingers didn’t fear the frost of an icy bite I’d try and write despite not knowing if she’d found another man to fill the void in her life.
I dreamed that maybe if I just stood up and took a stray enemy bullet I’d wake up away from all the red stained snow and back in front of my fireplace wasting away my days with her beside me.
But, back here in the moment, this frosty and scornful moment, it was the roar of panzer tanks pushing through the banks of snow which brought me back to the deathly real reminder of the war which raged before my eyes.
Across from me sat a shaking and shivering shell of a soldier who was far from the family farm way back across the majestic Atlantic and deep beyond the spanning scope of Appalachia toward the depths of the American heartland. The last place he’d thought his life may end would be in the depths of a cold Belgian forest.
I didn’t think that I’d die here either. Yet, alas, here I am sat waiting for my number to be called.