The War is in My Bones

About a German Solider in WWI writing to his mother in poetry form.

December 24th, 1917

Time: 0000 (Midnight)

 

Hearing the explosions of the war in the darkness of the night, Albert turned his head wearily at the window in the hospital. He could only see a few of the flashes of the bombs, hearing the machine guns being fired at his fellow comrades as they screamed in severe torture. The noise was too much for him, considering he had been in the war for about five months; July 9^th. Albert still couldn’t get used to the idea of hearing people dying, yet was like a war machine when went out and shot the French soldiers that were eagerly trying to do the same thing to him. Rubbing his gray smoky eyes from staying up for two nights in a row, Albert saw a pretty blond nurse who looked about in her early twenties, maybe around his age.

            He was twenty five, which he thought was kind of ironic since he had been at his station for five months. So he just assumed that she was around his same age, making him wonder why such a pretty girl like her would want to help so many hospitalized soldiers that were getting their legs amputated, dying because of a suicide attempt, or just dying in general. Most of the other soldiers were fine or were going to go home to see their families since they had left home.  Albert wished he could go home, wanting to see his family, his dog Wolfgang, and the tree he always sat in whenever he needed some time to think. It was terrible being in the war, having to lose a new friend every other week for the fact that they had died for their country. Albert couldn’t take that kind of pain, always having to adjust to wearing a different mask each time there was a loss.

 

            Coughing from a tickle in his throat, Albert used half of his strength to turn around in his bed to ask the blond, blue eyed nurse for some water.

“Can I have some water, ma’am?” His eyes were narrowed at the women, shyly staring at her as she smiled at him and nodded. She left to fetch him a glass of water, Albert knowing that they had only a small supply of it since the doctors and nurses usually got thirsty after working for so long in the hospital. Sleep was taking over Albert, which he tried hard to stay up for the young nurse to come along. He had talked to her a few times during his one week in the hospital, having a fancy for her since they both had the same things in common. He had forgotten her name, yet he always knew when she was coming when a faint smell of a certain clean smell came around him, which he had smelt right at the moment. ‘She’s here…’ Albert thought gleefully, trying to think seriously as the nurse gave him the glass of water. He took the water carefully, taking a small sip of it to save for later.

“Thanks.” Albert said after wiping his mouth with the tips of his fingers, setting the cup down onto the night stand by the bed. The women smiled brightly.

“You’re welcome….” Then a look of sadness overwhelmed her face.

“Are you doing alright, Albert...I mean, your leg got shot twice…”

Albert inspected his leg and tapped it a couple of times. “And I still can’t feel it.”
The women sat the edge of the bed, now worried.

“They said your leg was most likely going to be paralyzed, you know…and it still hasn’t fully healed, Albert.”

“ I know that,…uh….What’s your name again? I forgot..” Albert said with a small tint of blush on his face.

“Emilie.” She said with her hands clasped together, her thumbs twiddling as she stared at Albert.

“Emilie…” Albert repeated to himself. He pushed himself up in the wired bed, propping the pillow up the white painted frame of the bed. Emilie helped him up and then sat down in the chair that was right next to him.

“Thank you.”
“Uh-huh…”
Albert then looked around for his notepad and a pencil, wondering where he had put it.

“I can never find the damned things…”
“What things?” Emilie asked.

“My notepad and pencil; they seem to go missing all the time..” Albert tapped on the covers of his bed just in case he could find the notepad under his sheets.

“Here, I’ll help you...” Emilie got up from her seat and searched around, kneeling down until she had a tiny smirk upon her lips. “I found it, Albert..”
Albert smiled warmly, which was about for the third time since he had met Emilie.

“Here you go…”
Albert nodded. “Thank you again…Emilie.”

“You’re welcome.”

            Albert opened up the notepad, staring to write something onto the paper.
“Who are you writing to?....If you don’t mind me asking..”
“To my mother. She’d be worried sick if I don’t write to her sooner.”

Emilie nodded. “Well, I better get going. I hope you get better, Albert…maybe you’ll be able to go home…” Her voice faded as she walked away, tucking some of the blond hair that she had behind her delicate ears. Albert grinned and started to write to his mother in Saxony, Germany.

 

Dear Mother,

 

How are you are?

Are doing well without me at home?
I worry about your well being way too much

To concentrate on the war.

I know that I should be brave for our country,

And for the people that live in it,

But to tell you the truth,

Which I’m too scared to even admit to myself,

I’m sick and tired of being

In the this endless hell we say we have to serve in,

Seeing the days were I can’t stand

To see my fellow soldier’s faces plastered into my mind.

I know I shouldn’t be telling you this and

That I know you’ll probably be even more frightened,

But I’m going to tell you the sad, still truth

In my bold, determined words.

 

Every time I turn around,

there’s always a new gas bomb right by my side,

Which thank god I have a gas mask to cover my face.

Yet some of the other men aren’t as lucky as I am,

Having to suffer in a pool of drowning in their own dismay

As they choke on the gas,

Which has to end their short lived life.

I feel bad that I can’t do anything to save them;  

I can’t give them my own life!

Yet I have nothing that I could give

That would count as a living heart beat.

I think that I’m going to die; I’m not sure of that.

The doctors say my leg is paralyzed

And Emilie says that my leg hasn’t healed.

Oh wait, I haven’t told you about her yet,

Not having the chance to write

To think about her sweet, little name.

Emilie is a nurse, a now good friend of mine;

She’s as beautiful as my old high school sweetheart

Who had left me for that swine Erik Acton,

Who had left his girlfriend for my girlfriend;

Leaving me in the disgusting, blinding mud.

But that’s not what I’m getting to,

That grudge against him being for too long.

You would like Emilie,

She loves to sew and cook

And also likes to sit in the crooks of trees;

Just as I used to before I enlisted

Myself into this bloody, damned war.

 

Watching the world go by my eyes,
I must leave you for now

And write to you another day,

Hoping to write more positively

When I leave my bed

And maybe the train back home.
I’m too tired to write anymore…..

 

I love you, mother. Keep safe and keep calm.

 

Love your son,

A.K.S.  

 

 

      Setting the notepad down, Albert took a deep breath before tearing it off. He then folded it into a neat square, sticking it into an envelope that he had already made just in case he was going to write another letter. Setting the envelope down onto the night stand, Albert snatched the glass of water and chugged it before sleep took over his eyes, the world feeling heavy over his smoky gray eyes; a dream of the machine guns, Emilie, and his family running through his war filled mind.

 

 

The Aftermath of the War; About Albert Stover:

 

Albert gone sent home since his leg was paralyzed, the officer of his station telling him that it would be best if he just went home as soon as he could. So Albert took the next train home, promising Emilie that he would write to her every day as soon as he had gotten home (Emilie was grateful that he could be alive and well to go home, yet would miss him a lot). But before he went to his apartment in Berlin, he visited his mother in Saxony, Germany. She was happy that he was home, yet traumatized at first when she found out that Albert’s leg would be partly paralyzed. Then she said that it was better than having it cut off, which Albert was glad about as well. A year after the war, it had ended and everybody that was alive could go home. Albert was nervous because he didn’t want Emilie to be suddenly dead, being in love with her during the letters that they had sent to each other back in forth (they started to ‘date’ two months after Albert was sent home). At first, he didn’t see her around, having a small panic attack right in the train station when Albert didn’t see her. But after having to take a few deep breaths, Emilie was at his side with her arms wrapped around him for a support. After a few months had gone by, Albert proposed to Emilie and they got married on August 7^th of 1918. On September 21^st, Emilie gave birth to two baby twins; a boy and a girl named Inge and Gretchen.  Four years after giving birth to the twins, Klara Stover was born on December 19^th, 1922.  Ever since then, they grew into a wondrous family; the kids always asking about Daddy liked it in the World War I.

 

 

 

Author's Note

Inspirations and Credit:
Nocturne in C-Sharp Minor (The Pianist soundtrack...)
Modern Global (surprisingly enough..lol)

[Experimental story.]

______________
Sorry about the weird line breakage...you guys will have to live with it; it makes sense to me. Lol. Ignore spelling grammars, ect.

And the 'K' in the initials is Karl.

Reviews

[SM Davis]

Very well executed. Your imagery here is impeccable. There are a few typographical errors, but as a whole, the story is fantastic.

[Sean M. Addams]

very deep piece ... I love the story line that you have put into this .... I thought this was very well done and imagery in this was great... overall very good story... i'm impressed:)