The Sniper Creative Writing

I stuck my head up out the trench; a bullet scraped past my face. I felt an icy chill down my spine as I frantically ducked back into the trench. I take a look around. I see true horror on many of the soldiers’ faces. The smell of blood and death lingered in the air. The deafening sound of bullet fire rang over my head. It was hard to hear my thoughts. I turned to my lifelong friend, Henry; he gives me a small smile of reassurance. The exact same smile he would give me as a child. That smile reminded me of all the mischief we got up to as kids. It brought up a fond memory, the time we went to the local store and Henry ran out the store with a bag of chips without paying. It was that exact mischievous smile he gave me that day. How did we end up here? It was only weeks earlier we were at home, enjoying the normal life of young men. The life young men should live.

I turned to my gun and began to reload. Before I even had a chance to think, I heard the deafening sound of a sniper rifle. I glanced back at Henry. I see him fall back. I frantically scampered over to him; the front of his face was completely obliterated; blood gushed out from his

As I approached our bunker all the memories hit me all at once. The gunfire, the cries of soldiers, the sirens- everything. I walked further, past the barbed wire and onto the warfield. As I rose over the mound of a hill, I spotted a beautiful bunch of poppies blowing in the wind. The exact place where many soldiers died. How does something so beautiful arise from such chaos? They were powerful and aesthetic. I wandered past the main sight of poppies, and further on through the field. I glanced up to spotted a single flower on the top of a hill. I walked over to the flower. As I approached, the poppy began to blow in the wind. Arisen from the ground, the poppy stood bright, thriving and jaunty. It was if Henry was trying to let me know that he was