My mind wondered to the snow-kissed windows of the cottage where I watched my grandfather’s last breath. It had been my first taste of death, now a seeming fairy tale in this nightmare land of carnage. A bird singing on the bright July morning brought me back.
The ground shook as if from an earthquake, the bird stopped singing. Whistles sounded. I climbed out of the trench and slowly walked toward the German line, as instructed.
I saw the flashes of the machine guns before I heard their report.
Winter descended, July forgotten. I once again saw through snow-kissed windows.
Word count = 100
May there be no more days like July 1, 1916 – 100 years ago today.