For the whole day we were sitting in those deadly trenches. Faces covered in fear, waiting for the bloody end of this war. war, i wish never happened.
Leszek
“Is it supposed to feel this way?” I ask, a hand pressed against my chest.
“Why, what does it feel like?” you ask in return, but your eyes are elsewhere, your mind flutters.
“Like I’ve hit the bottom of the deepest trench.”
“That’s why it’s called falling in love,” you roll your eyes, and your tone says that this is nothing, this is common knowledge.
Not to me, apparently.
Shea Martinez
He had been crawling through the trenches for an hour now. He didn’t want to think of himself as a coward but he couldn’t just have himself die for nothing. For courage.For honour.
In the trenches they breathe, and they breathe hard.
Something whizzes and one inhales quickly. In fear. The fear is overpowering now, and the little demon cackles as it realizes that they have pissed their pants.
In the trenches they breathe, and they breathe hard.
It’s whizzed, and it’s gone, and now it’s silent. They have only to wait… wait until the enemy realizes they’re there.
Or, at least that’s how I feel about him looking at me.
He hid in the trenches from the incoming bullets. Fear spread across his face as an ugly mask, giving him a terrifying grotesque expression. He wasn’t ready for it, he never was nor he will ever be. He realised it now, but NOW was already too late. His life would end soon, too soon, with a clattering sound of a mortar, he was about to meet his death, unprepared, too young for it.
I don’t know much about trenches. I guess I’m kind of in one right now. In a life trench, that’s kind of impossible to get out of. An unmotivated, sticky life trench.
I always wonder how it feels to lie helpless in trenches. Definitely scary. But this is surely one of Lolo Incio’s experience last WWII which helped him hide and eventually, survive.
I always wonder how it feels to lie helpless in trenches. Sacrely, for sure. This is surely one of Lolo Incio’s experience last WWII whichhelped him survive.
I watched as she worked the land, digging into the earth with her bare hands. No, not quite right, she didn’t work the land, she cajoled it, coddled it, caressed it, and it responded in great exuberant spurts of growth. Her garden was as wild as she was, and just as surprising, exciting, and endlessly abundant. Today she was digging new trenches for her compost, giving back to the land, keeping the cycle going. She looked up from under her wide brimmed straw hat and smiled, and if ever I believed in such things, I could’ve easily said that at that exact moment, Mother Earth smiled through her.
I don’t know what to say. There are some feelings you just can’t describe. Like the feeling of love, or hate, or sorrow. There are no words to describe some of the ways those feelings make you.. feel. That’s why i don’t know what to say right now.
Nicole
She thought she’d had this word before. It always conjured the same image: dank, dark holes. Mud, stark chill, shivering bodies. Shivering because of the cold, but also because of the fright. Down here, there were dangers– THINGS, giant reptilian monsters out for blood. Wait, was that right?
I’ve been trying to climb out for what seems like forever.
just living in the moment but I keep thinking about the future
what should I do and where should I go?
where do I belong and how should I know?
Josh Miller
she drove down the rode, a bump here and there was not something that her car could handle. then a large trench presented itself, with a large dip the women died all because her stupid car
I was locked in the trenches of my own brain, trapped in the sulci, trying to remember all the things in life that made me happy, but I got bogged down in the details lost track of all the physical aspects of myself until I could no longer breathe. My lungs filled with thoughts instead of air and I choked on verbage while swimming through the words.
Megan
They walked along the side of the road
They had no place that they were proud to call home
When they were in a crowd, they were all alone,
From now and forever, they will always be,
The ones who walked the trenches and fell into eternity.
Dakotah
Trenches are always thought of in terms of war. Hard working men fighting, protecting, digging trenches with courage. A war above them, bombs exploding around them. I have trenches in my body.I dig them to protect my mind. The bombs are exploding before my eyes, sending debris to pierce my skin.
I was in love with idea of trenches. Embankments to lean against when times are tough and a place to keep your head down low. But that’s not how were meant to live.
A run over ragged trench of thick grass, the bottom sunk with mud and soft from the rain, the same three days worth of rain that’s filled up the bottom of the trench. His knees are wet through his pants as he struggles to make purchase, to climb upwards.
Usually it was just the mud around us. Like really around us, towering up as high as our shoulders. But we had to stay hunched, and so we never stood up straight. Afraid to look up. The corporal was always looking at us like he was going to send us up there, and I hated it.
The battle was in the middle of july and the sounds of cannonfire are heard in the distance. The flares and the sirens of ambulanecs fill the night with sorro and pain. War, war is never good, sometimes beatiful, but never good. if the world was like this all the time people would be different, not better, not worse just different. I don’t know how to explain it, it would just be different.
I didn’t really realize it, but lately the faces around me had been blurring. The visions. There were men, our men. Boys really. They sat all around me, practicing looking up over the mounds of dirt, barely conscious I would guess.
James Holbert
Her mother thought it would be a good way to learn about patience and hard work. She had blisters on every surface of her hands and the yard didn’t look much better– a ten foot long trench here, a 15 foot long trench there. All perfectly 2 feet deep. All she did, all day, was dig trenches.
ace
The girls dug out three trenches in the mud, the gravel pickled with almost salty rain, and waited quietly for someone to walk by. They trusted no one in this dead zone. They shouldered pistols and a grenade each, a smear of dirt under each eye. Not to look cool, but instead to camouflage in the wet, murky gloom.
Belinda Roddie
As I lay dying. in this muddy hell hole i call home for now. i remember my loved ones back home and wonder if i will ever see their faces again. i want to tell them how much they mean to me because any moment could be my last.
world war one. the muddy places you crouch and hide from the bullets streaming overhead. the wet home you sleep in at night trying to stay warm enough to make it through until tomorrow.
Natalie Dove
The trenches were dark, cold, dirty and disgusting l had outgoing to add to that. Nothing that hadn’t already been said. I wasn’t thinking about me. I wasn’t thinking about our team leader. Id don’t even spare a thought for my girlfriend back home. All I could think about was that my sister was crawling through the sludge a hair’a breadth ahead of me. I could see her shoes and I. Could tell when the trench would get narrow, because she’d give a funny little wriggle. I’d wanted to go in there first. I wanted to be her big brother. But sometimes orders and orders and you can’t order fear away.
I have absolutely no Idea about how they worked. I’ve seen them featured in several period/costume shows, such as my all time favourite, Downton Abbey. I understand they were used during WWI.
Bernie Rosenstein
trench coats don’t have anything to do with trenches, really. I mean, perhaps designed to go into them, now, the fare of uptown celebs and the neighborhood flasher. A type of strange unity,
The deep, despairing trenches of thought kept her from getting out alive. She was trapped in her own mind and unable to free herself. An erratic pulse ate at her, but she fought against the panic.
Lily K.
You don’t know about life. You’re not the one that has to be out in the trenches everyday, so don’t tell me how things are so unfair. When you have held the hand of a dying crack addict while her children stand by looking at you with tear filled eyes, without understanding what is happening, or why it is happening to their mother, then you might just begin to have an inkling of an idea of the dirty reality of this thing we call life.
I don’t know exactly what they are but i know that they are like holes.the people who were in the army hided in them
Jessica Smith
He fired a shot at me and ducked out of sight, hidden in the trenches they had dug. I lifted my rifle to my shoulder and aimed, waiting for his head to resurface. I waited. Then his head appeared in my sights. Silently, I pulled the trigger.
Te'Bazile
They are deep. People don’t like getting caught in them, especially in war. Men like to hide in trenches and create them in battle to hide themselves. I think it is a good strategy. trenches are also in the ocean.
Jessica Smith
Seeded deeply within the shores we play, are the trenches where thoughts of memories past lay.
Parlez-vous français?
Annette
The only place to hide, in a war with yourself. The trenches feigned to relieve the mess.
you hide in trenches, while picturing six inches of water, old fashioned boots and a lot of muddy men with old rifles. Do the trenches really protect them? Do they really protect you now? No? So why do you stay hidden in them then?
For the whole day we were sitting in those deadly trenches. Faces covered in fear, waiting for the bloody end of this war. war, i wish never happened.
“Is it supposed to feel this way?” I ask, a hand pressed against my chest.
“Why, what does it feel like?” you ask in return, but your eyes are elsewhere, your mind flutters.
“Like I’ve hit the bottom of the deepest trench.”
“That’s why it’s called falling in love,” you roll your eyes, and your tone says that this is nothing, this is common knowledge.
Not to me, apparently.
He had been crawling through the trenches for an hour now. He didn’t want to think of himself as a coward but he couldn’t just have himself die for nothing. For courage.For honour.
In the trenches they breathe, and they breathe hard.
Something whizzes and one inhales quickly. In fear. The fear is overpowering now, and the little demon cackles as it realizes that they have pissed their pants.
In the trenches they breathe, and they breathe hard.
It’s whizzed, and it’s gone, and now it’s silent. They have only to wait… wait until the enemy realizes they’re there.
Or, at least that’s how I feel about him looking at me.
He hid in the trenches from the incoming bullets. Fear spread across his face as an ugly mask, giving him a terrifying grotesque expression. He wasn’t ready for it, he never was nor he will ever be. He realised it now, but NOW was already too late. His life would end soon, too soon, with a clattering sound of a mortar, he was about to meet his death, unprepared, too young for it.
Those poor men who fought in World War I. Lived and died in trenches. So young. Buried so far away or not at all.
I don’t know much about trenches. I guess I’m kind of in one right now. In a life trench, that’s kind of impossible to get out of. An unmotivated, sticky life trench.
I always wonder how it feels to lie helpless in trenches. Definitely scary. But this is surely one of Lolo Incio’s experience last WWII which helped him hide and eventually, survive.
I always wonder how it feels to lie helpless in trenches. Sacrely, for sure. This is surely one of Lolo Incio’s experience last WWII whichhelped him survive.
I watched as she worked the land, digging into the earth with her bare hands. No, not quite right, she didn’t work the land, she cajoled it, coddled it, caressed it, and it responded in great exuberant spurts of growth. Her garden was as wild as she was, and just as surprising, exciting, and endlessly abundant. Today she was digging new trenches for her compost, giving back to the land, keeping the cycle going. She looked up from under her wide brimmed straw hat and smiled, and if ever I believed in such things, I could’ve easily said that at that exact moment, Mother Earth smiled through her.
The trenches seemed to crowd the horizon; row after crooked row, stooping like old, weary men in the watery light. It took his breath away.
Trenches where dug so that the rains could divert around the crops. It would provide a source of water for the irrigation of our next plantings.
I don’t know what to say. There are some feelings you just can’t describe. Like the feeling of love, or hate, or sorrow. There are no words to describe some of the ways those feelings make you.. feel. That’s why i don’t know what to say right now.
She thought she’d had this word before. It always conjured the same image: dank, dark holes. Mud, stark chill, shivering bodies. Shivering because of the cold, but also because of the fright. Down here, there were dangers– THINGS, giant reptilian monsters out for blood. Wait, was that right?
She’d played too many video games.
I’ve been trying to climb out for what seems like forever.
just living in the moment but I keep thinking about the future
what should I do and where should I go?
where do I belong and how should I know?
she drove down the rode, a bump here and there was not something that her car could handle. then a large trench presented itself, with a large dip the women died all because her stupid car
I was locked in the trenches of my own brain, trapped in the sulci, trying to remember all the things in life that made me happy, but I got bogged down in the details lost track of all the physical aspects of myself until I could no longer breathe. My lungs filled with thoughts instead of air and I choked on verbage while swimming through the words.
They walked along the side of the road
They had no place that they were proud to call home
When they were in a crowd, they were all alone,
From now and forever, they will always be,
The ones who walked the trenches and fell into eternity.
Trenches are always thought of in terms of war. Hard working men fighting, protecting, digging trenches with courage. A war above them, bombs exploding around them. I have trenches in my body.I dig them to protect my mind. The bombs are exploding before my eyes, sending debris to pierce my skin.
Nobody thinks my trenches are courageous though.
I was in love with idea of trenches. Embankments to lean against when times are tough and a place to keep your head down low. But that’s not how were meant to live.
Nor love.
A run over ragged trench of thick grass, the bottom sunk with mud and soft from the rain, the same three days worth of rain that’s filled up the bottom of the trench. His knees are wet through his pants as he struggles to make purchase, to climb upwards.
Usually it was just the mud around us. Like really around us, towering up as high as our shoulders. But we had to stay hunched, and so we never stood up straight. Afraid to look up. The corporal was always looking at us like he was going to send us up there, and I hated it.
The battle was in the middle of july and the sounds of cannonfire are heard in the distance. The flares and the sirens of ambulanecs fill the night with sorro and pain. War, war is never good, sometimes beatiful, but never good. if the world was like this all the time people would be different, not better, not worse just different. I don’t know how to explain it, it would just be different.
I didn’t really realize it, but lately the faces around me had been blurring. The visions. There were men, our men. Boys really. They sat all around me, practicing looking up over the mounds of dirt, barely conscious I would guess.
Her mother thought it would be a good way to learn about patience and hard work. She had blisters on every surface of her hands and the yard didn’t look much better– a ten foot long trench here, a 15 foot long trench there. All perfectly 2 feet deep. All she did, all day, was dig trenches.
The girls dug out three trenches in the mud, the gravel pickled with almost salty rain, and waited quietly for someone to walk by. They trusted no one in this dead zone. They shouldered pistols and a grenade each, a smear of dirt under each eye. Not to look cool, but instead to camouflage in the wet, murky gloom.
As I lay dying. in this muddy hell hole i call home for now. i remember my loved ones back home and wonder if i will ever see their faces again. i want to tell them how much they mean to me because any moment could be my last.
world war one. the muddy places you crouch and hide from the bullets streaming overhead. the wet home you sleep in at night trying to stay warm enough to make it through until tomorrow.
The trenches were dark, cold, dirty and disgusting l had outgoing to add to that. Nothing that hadn’t already been said. I wasn’t thinking about me. I wasn’t thinking about our team leader. Id don’t even spare a thought for my girlfriend back home. All I could think about was that my sister was crawling through the sludge a hair’a breadth ahead of me. I could see her shoes and I. Could tell when the trench would get narrow, because she’d give a funny little wriggle. I’d wanted to go in there first. I wanted to be her big brother. But sometimes orders and orders and you can’t order fear away.
I have absolutely no Idea about how they worked. I’ve seen them featured in several period/costume shows, such as my all time favourite, Downton Abbey. I understand they were used during WWI.
trench coats don’t have anything to do with trenches, really. I mean, perhaps designed to go into them, now, the fare of uptown celebs and the neighborhood flasher. A type of strange unity,
In the trenches
That’s where
men go to die.
In the trenches
That’s where
families are made.
In the trenches
That’s where
bodies are found.
The deep, despairing trenches of thought kept her from getting out alive. She was trapped in her own mind and unable to free herself. An erratic pulse ate at her, but she fought against the panic.
You don’t know about life. You’re not the one that has to be out in the trenches everyday, so don’t tell me how things are so unfair. When you have held the hand of a dying crack addict while her children stand by looking at you with tear filled eyes, without understanding what is happening, or why it is happening to their mother, then you might just begin to have an inkling of an idea of the dirty reality of this thing we call life.
I don’t know exactly what they are but i know that they are like holes.the people who were in the army hided in them
He fired a shot at me and ducked out of sight, hidden in the trenches they had dug. I lifted my rifle to my shoulder and aimed, waiting for his head to resurface. I waited. Then his head appeared in my sights. Silently, I pulled the trigger.
They are deep. People don’t like getting caught in them, especially in war. Men like to hide in trenches and create them in battle to hide themselves. I think it is a good strategy. trenches are also in the ocean.
Seeded deeply within the shores we play, are the trenches where thoughts of memories past lay.
Parlez-vous français?
The only place to hide, in a war with yourself. The trenches feigned to relieve the mess.
you hide in trenches, while picturing six inches of water, old fashioned boots and a lot of muddy men with old rifles. Do the trenches really protect them? Do they really protect you now? No? So why do you stay hidden in them then?