He stood in the middle of the street, arm outstretched, holding the girl by her collar.
“Haven’t you gotten in enough damned trouble?” he demanded, his trench coat rustling in the wind. “Why are you running around and doing dumb shit?”
With a yank of her shoulder, she pulled off. “Let go of me!”
Encendre
Frankly speaking, I can’t even suppose what this word could mean. SO I’m completely at a loss what topic to discuss using this word. Probably, it could mean some type of clothes, for example a coat. It is very popular.
It was a little strange. No one seemed to notice the trench. They were all going over it, as if there was no young soldier peering at them from inside the trench.
I’m not sure why I was the one who saw him. The one he saw as well.
There was something fishy in this trench. People just tried going over it. No soldier was actually laying there. It was weird.
I’m not sure I understand how it came to be that I was the only one actually feeling this. Perhaps it was the fact that I was the younger soldier there.
Erez
He was in the trenches. Bombs exploding just over the wire. Men scrambling to find cover. His leg already torn and bleeding, he reaches for the photograph of his beloved Carla from his breast pocket. With his last breath, the nazi airships rolling in hijab above, Sgt Stratford kisses The bloody weathered photo and slips peacefully into comatose…
Madonna
Eh… I’m sorry, but I don’t know what does it mean. Is’t my fist word here.
Andrew
It was dark and damp. Mud was no longer just caked on, it had become a part of your skin, scaly patches of crumbling defense. The stench was unbearable; smelling of rats, humans, wet and smoking shrapnel.
Frustrated, I threw my binoculars on the ground. The sea of people below me continued the monotonous rhythm of their boots striking the pavement. How was I supposed to find /one/ man among all of them? Aside from his incredibly tall height, pallid complexion, and dusty brown trenchcoat, I had no means of identifying him. He could be anyone!
I packed up my things. This was impossible.
I grabbed the binoculars on the ground, now with a missing lens, and drew it up my face. Didn’t hurt to have a last glance at the city before me, right?
My eyes caught the movement of a deep brown trench coat. It stopped. Vexed by this sudden action, I carefully trailed my binoculars to this person’s face.
I gasped, and the binoculars once again hit the ground.
Before I knew it, I was running.
He was looking straight at me.
Hide in the trenches, take cover from the gun and bomb fire. Explosions crack in your eardrums, blow out your hearing so you only hear the dull echoes of your brothers’ screams and the hollow howls of missiles launching. Watch out for their paths.
One day as she was walking along a sidewalk, she felt somehting. not necessarily wind, or someone staring. just somehtig. sudenly she was being pushed, hard. and then. nothinbg blackness, dampness. a hole. no, a trench.
Regina
The trench was deep, and narrow. From the bottom seeped a sound, a sound that was unaware of the rest of the world, it was called silence. The silence called for her, the trench called for her. Nothing made more sense than it did in that moment, where she wanted to be, where she was meant to be. And, she jumped.
Laura Shane
The Battle of the First World War:
Fought ever so deep, ever so bloody in the dark cavernous paths.
Blood; Pools of Blood.
a whole dug in the ground for military activity
trench coat – a light overcoat
Kr
Trench.
The Battle of the First World War.
Blood, Pools of It.
Why… Why… they were…
Simply,
Not Smart.
Also, Hitler.
Ian
This is a dark, dark war. My only chance of survival is clinging to my life in the bottom of a trench. There is no way out.
Amy
Trench? I’ve been stuck in one, for a while now. I’m at war, but i’m hiding in this trench. for safety or just because i’m too much of a coward to go ahead and do my part and be taken out with the honor already?
trench warfare. my mind hurts when i think about it really. what if i was born in another era? yeah some things i just gotta be thankful for. so thank you.
Jrok
His foot was swollen and ugly, an ugly reminder of the filthy, cramped corners of the trenches. No matter how much he absolutely needed to, he couldn’t run on it.
The purple trench coat enveloped her body perfectly, hugging every curve, yet loose enough for her to present herself as a classy lady. She anticipated her first trip to Paris with an eagerness to explore European art, namely fashion.
We laid in deep holes dug in the ground. Trenches, they were called. Our feet soaked to the bones, skin pruned, minds tired from war. More men died from infections than bullets. Ironic, isn’t it? You sign up to protect your country and half the time you’re standing in mud.
Stephanie Jennifer
in the trenches surrounded by mud, nothing fancy just mud. the ever crumbling bricks of the modern war, of the modern temperment. we’ll find glory, yes, we’ll find it somewhere. but not here, not in this sinking ship. men don’t die as often as we thought, nor as rarely. just gangrene, the solace of the occasional song and dark, muddy walls of sinking faith.
Wil
I have never been in a trench. I have never fallen into a trench. Not a trench in the absolute sense. But, I have had downs in life. Falling into them was due to fate, and my own folly. But, one should always strive to get out of it, and start life again, like the phoenix rises from the ashes.
in the trenches of France Joseph thought of his family how did he end up here he knew the answer the draft Joseph waited for more enemy fire and soon drifted off to sleep his feet aching
Maggie
entrenched in the old ideas of what war and peace mean. entrenched in the idea that the us dream is THE dream to have, bloated and fat on easy, lazy normal life. Why not begin the journey out of the pit? Chile could be the famous new adventure to me and mine, better than the trench of ease and complicated joy. Free of expectations, free to create our own fresh sweet life of laughs and cuddly world traveler little cheeks. Why not? Pick and steps to lay, together up toward the breeze.
Sonja
the largest hole i’ve ever seen. Something i dont want to get stuck in or i’ll be digging for days in the rain all alone with a pool of water hanging around my feet as i struggle to dig myself out. step step by step dig by dig. a hugh hole waiting for me to free myself. i did…
dee
It was as if i’d adopted a demon, digging a trench around me every time I made contact with the outside world. He filled it with fire, thorns and gas. Or was that me? I always sketched a part of myself locked away in the tower. A princess. Fantastic.
Devon
He scraped a trench into his bread.
Gravy flowed into it
and flooded his pea ships.
There was a small trench in front of the house. “What’s that for?” I asked. He looked at me like I had two heads, and replied “That’s to keep the German tanks out!”. He snorted in disdain, and went back inside his house. The siege continued…
tonykeyesjapan
The trench was too high to climb. Too long to go around. And yet, I stared at it. Hoping one day to get over it.
Margo
i dug myself into this. wet socks in wet boots in wet mud over 6 wet days. I’m actually scared to release the beasts that my feet are sure to have decayed into from the wool and leather cages. Never again.
The trenches we hide ourselves in life are the ones who keep us from moving forward.
carina
I hid in the trenches steadying my breaths so i wouldn’t be in as much pain.
Looking down i observed the wound i had received from the bullet that had firmly lodged itseld into my thigh.
prodding it, it took all my control not to scream out in agony.
I looked up. The sky was dark with tiny bulbs of light. I put my hand to my head. That pain, that ache, where did it come from? I look around at my surroundings. Dirt. How in the world did I get here?
this trench seems deeper than the ocean,
deeper than the valleys between the mountains,
but still not deep enough to keep your heart safe.
Courtney
He hunched down as the dugout shook, pouring down dust formerly trapped between the roof and the splintery wooden supports. I’ll make it out of this trench someday, he thought as the next barrage of shells plummeted to earth.
I like trench coats because they remind me of being in London. I took one of my favourite trench coats to my London trip and to this day, it reminds me of that trip with Barbara.
B
The trench went on for hundreds of feet. The dirt was dark, almost red. I stepped closer and leaned down to look in. My breath caught in my throat and my heart stopped beating .The trenches were filled with hundreds and hundreds of dead bodies, the blood leaking into the dirt. Death in the air.
entrenched in the throes of all that is evil
the first though that comes to mind when i read that word.
go through the trench ! not over it.
dory forgot that part though and she ultimately paid the price for it.
although it was mostly marlins fault
He stood in the middle of the street, arm outstretched, holding the girl by her collar.
“Haven’t you gotten in enough damned trouble?” he demanded, his trench coat rustling in the wind. “Why are you running around and doing dumb shit?”
With a yank of her shoulder, she pulled off. “Let go of me!”
Frankly speaking, I can’t even suppose what this word could mean. SO I’m completely at a loss what topic to discuss using this word. Probably, it could mean some type of clothes, for example a coat. It is very popular.
It was a little strange. No one seemed to notice the trench. They were all going over it, as if there was no young soldier peering at them from inside the trench.
I’m not sure why I was the one who saw him. The one he saw as well.
There was something fishy in this trench. People just tried going over it. No soldier was actually laying there. It was weird.
I’m not sure I understand how it came to be that I was the only one actually feeling this. Perhaps it was the fact that I was the younger soldier there.
He was in the trenches. Bombs exploding just over the wire. Men scrambling to find cover. His leg already torn and bleeding, he reaches for the photograph of his beloved Carla from his breast pocket. With his last breath, the nazi airships rolling in hijab above, Sgt Stratford kisses The bloody weathered photo and slips peacefully into comatose…
Eh… I’m sorry, but I don’t know what does it mean. Is’t my fist word here.
It was dark and damp. Mud was no longer just caked on, it had become a part of your skin, scaly patches of crumbling defense. The stench was unbearable; smelling of rats, humans, wet and smoking shrapnel.
Frustrated, I threw my binoculars on the ground. The sea of people below me continued the monotonous rhythm of their boots striking the pavement. How was I supposed to find /one/ man among all of them? Aside from his incredibly tall height, pallid complexion, and dusty brown trenchcoat, I had no means of identifying him. He could be anyone!
I packed up my things. This was impossible.
I grabbed the binoculars on the ground, now with a missing lens, and drew it up my face. Didn’t hurt to have a last glance at the city before me, right?
My eyes caught the movement of a deep brown trench coat. It stopped. Vexed by this sudden action, I carefully trailed my binoculars to this person’s face.
I gasped, and the binoculars once again hit the ground.
Before I knew it, I was running.
He was looking straight at me.
Hide in the trenches, take cover from the gun and bomb fire. Explosions crack in your eardrums, blow out your hearing so you only hear the dull echoes of your brothers’ screams and the hollow howls of missiles launching. Watch out for their paths.
One day as she was walking along a sidewalk, she felt somehting. not necessarily wind, or someone staring. just somehtig. sudenly she was being pushed, hard. and then. nothinbg blackness, dampness. a hole. no, a trench.
The trench was deep, and narrow. From the bottom seeped a sound, a sound that was unaware of the rest of the world, it was called silence. The silence called for her, the trench called for her. Nothing made more sense than it did in that moment, where she wanted to be, where she was meant to be. And, she jumped.
The Battle of the First World War:
Fought ever so deep, ever so bloody in the dark cavernous paths.
Blood; Pools of Blood.
fin’
a whole dug in the ground for military activity
trench coat – a light overcoat
Trench.
The Battle of the First World War.
Blood, Pools of It.
Why… Why… they were…
Simply,
Not Smart.
Also, Hitler.
This is a dark, dark war. My only chance of survival is clinging to my life in the bottom of a trench. There is no way out.
Trench? I’ve been stuck in one, for a while now. I’m at war, but i’m hiding in this trench. for safety or just because i’m too much of a coward to go ahead and do my part and be taken out with the honor already?
in trenches of dark blackness.
In ditches of honeydew
In rivers run red with blood
In streams through fields of blue.
trench warfare. my mind hurts when i think about it really. what if i was born in another era? yeah some things i just gotta be thankful for. so thank you.
His foot was swollen and ugly, an ugly reminder of the filthy, cramped corners of the trenches. No matter how much he absolutely needed to, he couldn’t run on it.
The purple trench coat enveloped her body perfectly, hugging every curve, yet loose enough for her to present herself as a classy lady. She anticipated her first trip to Paris with an eagerness to explore European art, namely fashion.
We laid in deep holes dug in the ground. Trenches, they were called. Our feet soaked to the bones, skin pruned, minds tired from war. More men died from infections than bullets. Ironic, isn’t it? You sign up to protect your country and half the time you’re standing in mud.
in the trenches surrounded by mud, nothing fancy just mud. the ever crumbling bricks of the modern war, of the modern temperment. we’ll find glory, yes, we’ll find it somewhere. but not here, not in this sinking ship. men don’t die as often as we thought, nor as rarely. just gangrene, the solace of the occasional song and dark, muddy walls of sinking faith.
I have never been in a trench. I have never fallen into a trench. Not a trench in the absolute sense. But, I have had downs in life. Falling into them was due to fate, and my own folly. But, one should always strive to get out of it, and start life again, like the phoenix rises from the ashes.
in the trenches of France Joseph thought of his family how did he end up here he knew the answer the draft Joseph waited for more enemy fire and soon drifted off to sleep his feet aching
entrenched in the old ideas of what war and peace mean. entrenched in the idea that the us dream is THE dream to have, bloated and fat on easy, lazy normal life. Why not begin the journey out of the pit? Chile could be the famous new adventure to me and mine, better than the trench of ease and complicated joy. Free of expectations, free to create our own fresh sweet life of laughs and cuddly world traveler little cheeks. Why not? Pick and steps to lay, together up toward the breeze.
the largest hole i’ve ever seen. Something i dont want to get stuck in or i’ll be digging for days in the rain all alone with a pool of water hanging around my feet as i struggle to dig myself out. step step by step dig by dig. a hugh hole waiting for me to free myself. i did…
It was as if i’d adopted a demon, digging a trench around me every time I made contact with the outside world. He filled it with fire, thorns and gas. Or was that me? I always sketched a part of myself locked away in the tower. A princess. Fantastic.
He scraped a trench into his bread.
Gravy flowed into it
and flooded his pea ships.
There was a small trench in front of the house. “What’s that for?” I asked. He looked at me like I had two heads, and replied “That’s to keep the German tanks out!”. He snorted in disdain, and went back inside his house. The siege continued…
The trench was too high to climb. Too long to go around. And yet, I stared at it. Hoping one day to get over it.
i dug myself into this. wet socks in wet boots in wet mud over 6 wet days. I’m actually scared to release the beasts that my feet are sure to have decayed into from the wool and leather cages. Never again.
The trenches we hide ourselves in life are the ones who keep us from moving forward.
I hid in the trenches steadying my breaths so i wouldn’t be in as much pain.
Looking down i observed the wound i had received from the bullet that had firmly lodged itseld into my thigh.
prodding it, it took all my control not to scream out in agony.
I looked up. The sky was dark with tiny bulbs of light. I put my hand to my head. That pain, that ache, where did it come from? I look around at my surroundings. Dirt. How in the world did I get here?
this trench seems deeper than the ocean,
deeper than the valleys between the mountains,
but still not deep enough to keep your heart safe.
He hunched down as the dugout shook, pouring down dust formerly trapped between the roof and the splintery wooden supports. I’ll make it out of this trench someday, he thought as the next barrage of shells plummeted to earth.
I like trench coats because they remind me of being in London. I took one of my favourite trench coats to my London trip and to this day, it reminds me of that trip with Barbara.
The trench went on for hundreds of feet. The dirt was dark, almost red. I stepped closer and leaned down to look in. My breath caught in my throat and my heart stopped beating .The trenches were filled with hundreds and hundreds of dead bodies, the blood leaking into the dirt. Death in the air.
entrenched in the throes of all that is evil
the first though that comes to mind when i read that word.
go through the trench ! not over it.
dory forgot that part though and she ultimately paid the price for it.
although it was mostly marlins fault
geen gas. Stench. Blood. God. They’re coming. God. Sam. No. God. It hurts.
It hurts.
It doesn’t hurt any more.