Hope for Humanity
A Story Every Day in 2024 July 15th 196/366
The infantryman stumbled to his feet in the thick smoke and the noise and the horror of the battle. He struggled, his boots trying to find the ground; what had once been flat and accessible suddenly lumpen, pustulated and oozing with the heavy casualties of war. He was alive but barely. As shells whizzed and exploded and the earth lifted, clumps flying, he tried to focus. God, he wanted to live! Where were the others? He was reeling, disoriented, gulping air which was acrid and foul. He stifled the terror and despair that threatened to conquer him and willed himself to seek survival.
Please. Please.
He would need to protect himself. He would need his rifle and looked to where his hand would have been holding it to discover nothing there: no rifle, no hand. Shock hit him, then a sob followed by a howl of guttural intensity, which was released from deep within the core of his being, primeval and raw, followed by the sudden gush of recognition of the seering, debilitating pain, threatening to bring him to his knees.
But all was not lost as someone heard the howl and it reached into the very fibre of that person's being, into the reserves of humanity that still welled in the fighting men.
And in an impulsive gesture born of sympathy, that someone forgot sides and ran.
Ignoring cries and shouts from his fellow countrymen, he reached the infantryman and guided him slowly, arm around his shoulder out of the raging melée caused by angry leaders. He did not care for the consequences. He did not care for himself. He was compelled in that instant to answer a cry for help.
The death count was high that day.
But hope for humanity lived on.
***
295 words
I think this should be 197 but if my counting is off, forgive me. The date is right.
Unrealistic? Idealistic? Probably. But stories are not just there to tell a tale; they can also be messengers of hope.
A slightly longer piece than more recent ones but still a micro. The thought of war terrifies me. I don't think we can ever imagine what it's like for soldiers.
Thanks for stopping by! If you do read this, please leave a comment as I love to interact with my readers.
197/366
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More stories from Rachel Deeming and writers in Fiction and other communities.
The Pot Boiling Over
Once, there was a pot of about 340 million drops and droplets. Most of them would like to think they lived together peacefully for decades, but that wasn’t true. Different regions struggled, sometimes fought, with each other. And the mainstreams still often pursued and attacked the minorities. Law enforcers sometimes pushed minority drops out of the pot, never to be seen again.
By Gabriel Shames5 days ago in Fiction
Comments (5)
So powerful, Rachel!
When you write about war, I feel like you must have been there. Oof. Such strong writing.
You have such talent for capturing cinematic scenes so well in your writing and this was an excellent example of that!
Omgggg when he realised he lost his hand, that was sooo devastating!
Your story entered the terror of the Great War’s trenches as if you were born to write about it, Rachel. Really extraordinary writing!