Not Quite Dead

September 21, 2012
By Maddison Stephens BRONZE, Grandville, Michigan
Maddison Stephens BRONZE, Grandville, Michigan
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

The smell of freshly baked dinner could be detected through the tunnel system. Maximilian and Finnegan helped carry the decrepit souls into the dining hall. They hadn’t had a good meal in several weeks. But that’s what the front line does to soldiers, turns them to skin and bone.
As they entered you could see the mens eyes brighten. No wonder, the table was stuffed. There was barely enough room for even the plates. Every confection you could think of was there. Breads, meats, cakes, fruits, and vegetables. To drink there was milk, juice, wine, and beer.
They all sat down at the table. Finnegan was at the end. He stood and rang his cup with a spoon. The noise echoed through the hall silencing the chattering men. “It’s been too long since the last time I saw most of you,” he began. The men were fidgeting, eager to begin and eat. “But we can catch up later, for now, we feast!” he raised his hands. The men cheered.
It took only a few moments for the plates to fill, and even less time for them to empty. “If you eat too fast it will all be for not,” Max noted, but no one paid him much mind. They scarfed the food with the same intensity. Finally they began to slow as fatigue set in. The meal was winding down. If you listened in you could hear them discussing battles and heroes. It would only be a few weeks for some of them to join the battle again. Some longer if the wounds were fresh.
The fight for the upper world was brutal. But they refused to crawl through the tunnels any longer. They wanted to see the light, but would it be tinted red with the blood spilled to get it? Who knows.

The author's comments:
I wrote this in writing class and was required to post it here. Honestly, it's no where near my best work, but that's what you get when writing from a provided prompt. The basic idea is that there's a war, and one group of people lives underground, and one above. The people below want to live on top and that's why there's a war. The men they are helping into the dining room are wounded soldiers who are recuperating before being sent back to the battle field. The line I had to write this story out of was "They ate like pigs."

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.

Parkland Book