Categories > Original > Historical > Where The Wolf Did Step
January 1, 1916
A new year, a new set of Austrians lying dead. After another round of shelling, they finally decided to throw themselves at us. They were stiff in their attempt, though, but it did not do them any good. One man did get grazed by a bullet, though. Nothing serious, though, but he still will be in the tent. Thankfully. Losing a man is what no one needs, or wants. Alive and fighting is better than dead and not fighting. To be able to live to see another day, and the faint light at the end of this war is a small miracle. I always seem to find myself thinking about the possibility of me dying, for some reason. I do not know why, though. I try to shake it off, but it always creeps back into my mind. It is like an insect that one cannot swat out of the house, and it always seems to find you a comfortable place to rest. It is a small, annoying thought. But it has a reason. I know that I could be killed at any point, but I do not feel scared about it. Maybe it is better to be dead, and out of this fighting. Maybe it is better to lie in peace, slowly taken by the mud. Maybe it is better to be away from Him.
The Cycle
Here we stand,
living but dead.
The sound of the rifle,
only beaten by exploding shells.
We kill because otherwise,
we’d be killed.
An endless cycle,
a pointless cycle.
A cycle of offense,
a cycle of defense.
Oh, how it goes,
never stopping, never ceasing.
How we see all of them,
dead, lying without breath.
See them fall,
row by row, man by man.
A new year, a new set of Austrians lying dead. After another round of shelling, they finally decided to throw themselves at us. They were stiff in their attempt, though, but it did not do them any good. One man did get grazed by a bullet, though. Nothing serious, though, but he still will be in the tent. Thankfully. Losing a man is what no one needs, or wants. Alive and fighting is better than dead and not fighting. To be able to live to see another day, and the faint light at the end of this war is a small miracle. I always seem to find myself thinking about the possibility of me dying, for some reason. I do not know why, though. I try to shake it off, but it always creeps back into my mind. It is like an insect that one cannot swat out of the house, and it always seems to find you a comfortable place to rest. It is a small, annoying thought. But it has a reason. I know that I could be killed at any point, but I do not feel scared about it. Maybe it is better to be dead, and out of this fighting. Maybe it is better to lie in peace, slowly taken by the mud. Maybe it is better to be away from Him.
The Cycle
Here we stand,
living but dead.
The sound of the rifle,
only beaten by exploding shells.
We kill because otherwise,
we’d be killed.
An endless cycle,
a pointless cycle.
A cycle of offense,
a cycle of defense.
Oh, how it goes,
never stopping, never ceasing.
How we see all of them,
dead, lying without breath.
See them fall,
row by row, man by man.
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