I watched his head ripped from his body when he stood up over the trench, my friend, my savior my lover. His body lay steaming in the cold winter snow. the blood pouring out like a river flowing away from his body towards the casings layed out along the bank. Anger took control of everything I am, not only was there a dead man on my hands, but he was mine the only person I had ever cared about, my hands tightened down on the barrel of the rifle that sat beside me. My death would come, whether it be here fighting for my beliefs or back on the base, because I was a coward. He had fought for me, and his family, and his own life many times, and for his sacrafice, I too would make the greatest one I could give. My hands began to shake, for I knew death was breathing down my neck waiting for the moment to strike. My body rose without me thinking, the weapon in my hand was loaded, I was going to take atleast one with me.

My head jolted over the trench peak, the weapon in my hand blazing with fire. The men marching towards me began to return the fire, and few dropped from wounds. seconds passed and nothing was touching me, my clip was empty, nothing left to do but wait. My head sat above the trench line for what felt like hours, and to my suprise nothing hit me. In my last seconds I heard the foot steps, and turned just to see the mans grin as he pulled the trigger.