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Original Trenches

Flaze

Don't stop, keep walking
Location
Chile
Pronouns
he/him
Partners
  1. infernape
Well, this isn't what I would've expected to be my first work on here. Unfortunately right now I don't have anything that I can post this very moment, at least nothing too specific.

This here is actually a one shot I wrote a few months ago for myself, it was mainly a practice exercise focusing on detailing a character's emotions and surroundings. I even got it from a writing prompt and everything. That's part of the reason why there isn't too much detail on anything outside of just what the character himself experiences.

Regardless, I hope it's something people can at least enjoy. Give a word out if you like it...or if you don't that's fine too.


Detailed description of war and blood, minor description of gore

***​

In that moment, there was only one word he could use to describe the shivers that consumed his body.

Terror.

He heard them all around him. Screams that erupted from his fellow soldiers, bullets shattering air at high speeds before finally meeting their mark, ground, trees, and bodies.

So many bodies were now caking the ground he stood on. Some fell face forward, their cold, still opened eyes and similarly opened mouths boring into him, as if cursing him for standing over him.

Facing away from the ones facing forward was futile, because those that fell on their face were worse. All he could distinguish from them was their uniform. The familiar green hue, those same wrinkles that formed and raised up in the uniforms just like his, and the same red hexagon with a glaring hawk plastered in the center. A symbol he’d once been willing to fight for but now cursed with all his being.

He didn’t know if he was looking at someone he knew or at someone that just fought for the same army, and that thought kept his mind racing. He stood there, even with the bullets flying past him and the sulfur that filled the air, weighing heavy on his lungs as he tried to keep some semblance of breathing going to not share a spot with his fallen comrades.

“Kallens. Sharpen up!”

His eyes flew open; his lungs took in air faster than they’d done in minutes. He turned towards the source of the voice, only to see his superior officer, sergeant Marshall, running past him. There were more of his comrades behind him and they were all making their way towards their trench.

They moved deftly, jumping and crossing over bodies, not missing a beat. Anyone would look at them and think they were brave soldiers, capable of mustering the courage to fight in such a situation. He saw them as desperate people trying to find cover, people who weren’t so much running in spite of their dead comrades, but who were completely ignoring said dead comrades in order to save their own skin.

And he was no different. Without second thought Kallens willed his body in motion and broke into a sprint. He fought against the sickening feeling in his stomach, the way in which his legs weighed him down, threatening to give in from the strange mixture of sulfur and blood that filled his nostrils. He fought through it all, desperately, hungry for comfort, for a place that would rescue him from the living hell.

He ignored the screams, ignored the pleas, ignored the sounds of bodies flying around him, even the sound of his friend Marco calling for help from who knows where. Was he next to him? Was he below him? He didn’t care. It was background noise, and no sooner did he hear the background noise before he stopped hearing it altogether.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, days even, he reached that familiar hole. He let his body slide on the dirt, allowing him to fall in. His feet slid down to the trench, but as they landed they were unable to find their balance. His body met with the other side of the hole, his helmet bounced off, pushing him back and hitting his forehead. He would’ve fallen had it not been for another soldier catching him, finally allowing his body to center itself.

“You okay, Kallens?”

He turned towards the source of the voice. Cortney, another soldier he’d met after getting drafted. The two of them would often spend nights playing with Marco, and they even helped each other during trainings. Cortney was always the more physically adept of the three, with a toned physique and broad shoulders that matched his square, bulky frame.

Despite that, he’d always been kind, a source of relieve for Kallens. Unfortunately that relief was cut short. A red spot marked Cortney’s green uniform right below his ribs, mixing in with the dirt and grime that formed on the field. His forehead was also bleeding from the right, with a trail of blood that flowed down a bruised right eye and below his mouth, like a river flowing down a canal.

Kallens’ breath became heavy. He wanted to muster words, but the nerves were locking his throat and only garbled noises would come out.

Struggling through, he was finally able to mutter. “Are…are you okay?”

Cortney, contrary to what the moment would dictate, smiled. “Oh this? It’s just a scratch. I fell on my face like an idiot and hit my head against a rock; doesn’t seem like I have a concussion though.”

“But, what about…”

“Oh this?” He glanced at the red spot on his uniform, upon closer look he could see that a hole was made through the fabric, thought it was hard to spot with the blood. “A bullet graced me, I’m really lucky the guy’s aiming was off and it just passed through my side. Still hurts like hell though.”

“Torning, Kallens! shut your damn mouths, can’t you see we’re in the middle of a battle!” Sargent Marshall screamed from Kallens’ right. His chestnut brown eyes glared at the two of them and his wrinkles contorted into a face symbolic of his rage. Like Cortney, his uniform also had red markings, except there were many more and they seemed to be external, probably from other soldiers rather than his own.

“Sir what do we do?”

“We’re getting killed out there, should we wave our flag?”

The other soldiers all surrounded him, their faces matching Kallens’ inner and outer desperation. They all wanted answers, they all wanted a way out of their situation.

“Are you all fucking cowards or what!?” It was as if an explosion went out inside of Marshall. His voice was hoarse yet firm and loud enough to shut everyone down and the sight of his body almost bouncing off the ground from the sheer rage that coursed through him made everyone step back.

He couldn’t blame him. Things weren’t meant to escalate like this. They were originally supposed to act as a distraction, come in from the front while their support troops angled for a pincer attack from behind. Yet, said pincer attack had taken longer that they anticipated, and they weren’t ready for such a drawn out battle.

“What about our reinforcements? Are they coming?”

“Our allies broke through,” the Marshall’s face didn’t reflect his soldiers elation however; instead he looked as grim as ever. “But they’re still fighting through the forces at the back; they say it might be another twenty minutes at best before they can come get us here.”

“What?” Cortney spoke once more, lifting himself up from the trench wall and carefully walking towards the Sargent. “But if they take that long then our enemies might bring their own reinforcements in.”

“Which is why…they’re considering pulling back.”

“Then we should pull back as well!”

Soldiers began arguing amongst themselves, some were already gathering their things to start climbing the trench and running. Others were speaking about how unheroic it would be for them to run away now, while others just stayed quiet, resigned to let whatever fate befell them make their choice for them.

“Are you idiots? How can we pull back as things are right now? The enemy isn’t letting up their attack on us. There’s no way we’ll be able to leave without losing more men in the process.”

“So then…what do we do?” Kallens ragged voice finally came through the crowd, albeit small and hallow. “Are you saying we have to keep fighting?”

“Yes.”

A chorus of confusion, disbelief and anger spread out.

“If the team at the back has to pull back then our job will be to keep fighting here, by keeping the enemy focused on us we’ll be able to buy more time for them.”

Kallens didn’t reply to that, he drowned out the sound of soldiers protesting, clamoring for a chance to run. He saw some of his comrades slumping on the ground, faces devoid of any hope, while others gave up and climbed out of the trenches, running either away from or towards the enemy. It didn’t matter; they got shot all the same.

He felt that same feeling grasping at his heart. Despair coursed through it, spreading through his body. He heard Marshall talking; he could even swear he heard Cortney screaming at him. Maybe they were even fighting? He didn’t care, he didn’t process it.

Instead his mind wandered, wandered to the warm bed he’d left behind at home, wandered to his mom’s home cooked meals, to his little brother and him camping out in the backyard all night.

Why was he there? Why was he fighting? Did he feel heroic? Did he feel like he was doing something worthwhile with his life?

His rifle slipped from his grasp, hitting the dirt and falling at his feet.

He’d rather die running back home than die fighting someone else’s war for another minute.

Suddenly, at least for everyone else, Kallens rushed forward to the wall opposite him, the wall that faced towards their base. His fingers dug through the dirt, making it fall down on his shoes. He clawed his way up, using his legs to push himself upwards against the wall.

He felt someone tugging at his uniform, trying to pull him and drag him back to that communal grave. He didn’t budge. With what strength he had left he sent his leg flying back, knocking whoever was hindering him and using them as the push he needed to get out of the trench.

He wanted comfort, he wanted reprieve. But the trench wasn’t it. It was just a hole leading to his death.

Ignoring the screams of his comrades, his legs broke into a sprint once more. His eyes were fixed towards the distant road, towards freedom.

He ran and ran, pushing himself further and further with strength he didn’t even know he had. Hope began to feel his heart once more, thoughts of going back home, of being able to return to his normal life once more, of finally experiencing the comfort of a safe space.

And then, just as he’d finally mustered the courage to keep living, his legs gave out. Why? He was running just fine.

Then, a stinging feeling washed over him. The hope he’d mustered up suddenly started leaking, spilling out of his heart.

His hand slid forward. What was it? What was keeping him from moving?

Red.

Why was there red? His uniform was supposed to be green. Why?

Why was his vision going blank?

Why couldn’t he hear his family’s voices anymore?

Why did he have to die?
 
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Starlight Aurate

Ad Jesum per Mariam | pfp by kintsugi
Location
Route 123
Partners
  1. mightyena
  2. psyduck
Hello hello, and welcome to the forums! I saw your intro post in the Intro Thread and figured I'd say hi here while leaving a review :) Tbh, when I saw the title I immediately thought of oceanic trenches, which is why I clicked it XD But I'm happy I got to see what you wrote nonetheless!

To start, I'd suggest putting a content warning at the beginning of this one-shot. You've got some details that paint a fantastic image but are pretty gory and not for the faint of heart.

They moved deftly, jumping and crossing over bodies, not missing a beat. Anyone would look at them and think they were brave soldiers, capable of mustering the courage to fight in such a situation. He saw them as desperate people trying to find cover, people who weren’t so much running in spite of their dead comrades, but who were completely ignoring said dead comrades in order to save their own skin.
This presents an interesting dilemma. People--especially guys who train and fight in war together--absolutely want to look after and care for their dead. It's tragedy and horror to watch men you love die before you and it really screws with peoples' heads in the long run. That being said, when they're actively being shot at, what else can they do but try to run? The dead are already dead; there's nothing they can do to save them, and trying to stay alive is all that's left.

Soldiers began arguing amongst themselves, some were already gathering their things to start climbing the trench and running.
WOAH! I did not foresee any of them trying to run away. That is a serious thing to do, and it brings more questions to my mind: are these soldiers undisciplined? Do they not have a strong enough sense of duty? Were they forced in to training? Do they have pre-existing/underlying issues? Considering the dire circumstances, I wouldn't be surprised if deserters got shot.

When Kallens gets shot at the end, gunshot would probably push him forward with enough force to make him fall to his knees--I imagine it would be more than just an all-around stinging sensation. I'm not sure if this is supposed to reflect a particular time/place, but the trenches make me think of WWI Europe, particularly France/the Somme. Guns in those times weren't as clean-cut as they were today and being shot directly would lead to a large, gaping hole, not just a small bullet wound you might see today.

That being said, I thought it was neat how the hope had built up in his heart and then started leaking out in the form of blood. I also appreciated the little touch of his family being the last thought on his mind before he faded away. It's a nice sentiment that I would hope carries over to real life.

Overall, I appreciate this little one-shot here. You've got the grittiness of war and how it looks--it's definitely not a nice thing and, for all intents and purposes, it is going through hell to fight battles. I don't know enough about the effect on morale to say how much of this is accurate; all the soldiers protesting when being told to keep fighting struck me as a little out-there. It IS war, and these men are supposed to be prepared to die, although the fact of battles dragging on and watching horror unfold around you can really take its toll. And fighting back against your commanding officer is a B I G no-no, even in dire situations.

I don't have too much else to say here. It's a little one-shot that takes explores emotions, and I enjoy that type of thing. I have no personal experience in the military, so I can't attest to how accurate or not some of this is. But I'm glad you posted this to share, and welcome again to the forums!

Despite that, he’d always been kind, a source of relieve for Kallens.
Source of *relief.

He glanced at the red spot on his uniform, upon closer look he could see that a hole was made through the fabric, thought it was hard to spot with the blood.
*though it was hard to spot

“A bullet graced me, I’m really lucky the guy’s aiming was off and it just passed through my side. Still hurts like hell though.”
Don't they usually say "grazed"?

You also spell "Sargent Marshall," when the official rank (in the US military at least) is spelled "sergeant."
 

kintsugi

golden scars | pfp by sun
Location
the warmth of summer in the songs you write
Pronouns
she/her
Partners
  1. silvally-grass
  2. lapras
  3. golurk
  4. booper-kintsugi
  5. meloetta-kint-muse
  6. meloetta-kint-dancer
  7. murkrow
  8. yveltal
FLAZE. NEW PHONE WHO DIS.

hi bby long time no see

Broad strokes, I like what you're going for here. A lot of war in online fics tends to be glorified, full of epic badasses with a cigar in one hand and six guns in the other, and this is resoundly not that, which is something I can vibe with in my current mindset, haha. And this is definitely a lot more internal-narration heavy than your older stuff; it's a neat look for you. I think you use Kallens' mindset very effectively to set up the scene--pretty quickly I get an idea that this war is messy and gross, which lays groundwork on his change of heart later.

Semicolons are also a neat new look for you! A few bits where you swapped them for commas by accident, if you want pointers.

I also thought this was a pretty interesting direction to take a war fic, since usually they're about camaraderie and banding together through shared trauma, but this one is like, nope, fuck you, mom's got warm meals. I honestly like it as a take but don't know enough about the internal workings of armed forces to really say much more than that. I usually see the military in the extreme brotherhood category, and on some level I think people who make it this far sort of need to be hardened. There were a lot of questions I had for Kallens even by the end. He's grown to hate the insignia of his side, etc, but--why is this battle the catalyst for him? Is the fear of being killed finally breaking through the (presumable) training that beat that fear out of him and let him survive many other trench battles before that? Is it seeing his friends dead in droves around him? The final question before he chooses to run is about heroism, but the story isn't really framed like Kallens has ever been in this for the glory--the intro is him being in terror, and willingly choosing to leave people on the ground/tune them out because it's too hard to look at them (which is a fair conclusion).

So I sort of wanted more of a change of heart here for him, or some sort of realization that made it clear that there's something inside of him that causes him to snap externally. What does he learn over the course of this story that makes him different from the person who started, and why does that drive his actions? I thought the end of the story, with all the repeating rhetorical questions, was a bit overwrought while also not asking the questions I really wanted answered--why now, why here, why not before?

Some quote-based thoughts:
In that moment, there was only one word he could use to describe the shivers that consumed his body.

Terror.
I feel like you didn't actually need this intro line--if there's only one word that he could use to describe the shivers, then what's the rest of the story for, sort of feeling. And furthermore, the next sentence does a much better job of conveying what he's afraid of, as his friends scream and get blasted apart around him--a much more visceral feeling than I think you could really get from a single word. And usually I feel like statements like these need to have an unorthodox answer, but terror isn't really a surprising reason to be answered. And why is terror such a unique word that "fear", or "horror" or similar wouldn't work, and it has to be only terror? idk, lotta tricky things to pick apart and opening sentences usually need to make a Point.

Facing away from the ones facing forward was futile, because those that fell on their face were worse.
I thought that there was a lot of "face" in this sentence. Not quite enough to feel intentional though.

He ignored the screams, ignored the pleas, ignored the sounds of bodies flying around him, even the sound of his friend Marco calling for help from who knows where. Was he next to him? Was he below him? He didn’t care. It was background noise, and no sooner did he hear the background noise before he stopped hearing it altogether.
The phrasing here is a bit lumpy, I think, and you could streamline it slightly to make it flow a bit better and add to the tension of the scene. We can assume that Marco is a friend of his if he knows his name; bodies don't really make sounds when they fly; the rhetorical questions sort of take me out of the moment more than they pull me into it--"was he below him" to me suggests that maybe Kallens thinks Marco could be dead, but doesn't care? Which I think needed more unpacking if that's the case. There's a conscious decision being made here, the choice not to help, which I think is powerful in itself but gets overshadowed. Consider something like:
"He ignored the screams, the pleas, the sounds of [bodies] flying around him. He ignored the voice--Marco, he realized distantly--calling from help from who-knows-where. Could he help Marco? Could he help any of them? Suddenly, he didn't care. It was background noise, and as soon as he made it background noise, he stopped having to hear it altogether."

The two of them would often spend nights playing with Marco, and they even helped each other during trainings. Cortney was always the more physically adept of the three, with a toned physique and broad shoulders that matched his square, bulky frame.
"playing" ;o

a source of relieve for Kallens
relieve -> relief

thought it was hard to spot with the blood.
thought -> though

A bullet graced me, I’m really lucky the guy’s aiming was off and it just passed through my side.
graced -> grazed
unless he's like, religious and thinks the bullet is a blessing, which I doubt

Like Cortney, his uniform also had red markings, except there were many more and they seemed to be external, probably from other soldiers rather than his own.
I thought this detail was kind of fucked haha--is the implication that he's surrounded in the blood of all the men he's asked to die for him? It can't be enemy soldiers, since they're in trenches. I thought this was probably the best visual for how callous and hardened people have gotten; this one guy, covered in everyone else's blood and demanding that the people around him be next. Super fucked, but a really good way of conveying the absurd amount of loss of life that's flying around here.

All in all, interesting one-shot, and a new genre for you! Glad that fiction is sparking joy in you still.
 
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canisaries

you should've known the price of evil
Location
Stovokor
Pronouns
she/her
Partners
  1. inkay-shirlee
  2. houndoom-elliot
  3. yamask-joanna
  4. shuppet
  5. deerling-andre
Hey! Here from Catnip. Let's take a look.

Some fell face forward, their cold, still opened eyes and similarly opened mouths boring into him, as if cursing him for standing over him.

Standing over "them" would make more sense to me, since the "some" is implied to be many people.

Facing away from the ones facing forward was futile, because those that fell on their face were worse.

"had fallen on their face" would read better here, since the narration is already in simple past.

His body met with the other side of the hole, his helmet bounced off, pushing him back and hitting his forehead.

I think this sentence should be broken into two (His body met with the other side of the hole. His helmet bounced off . . .) or at least separated into two parts with a semicolon (His body met with the other side of the hole; his helmet bounced off . . .). Aside from just being more grammatically correct, it's also easier to read.

Despite that, he’d always been kind, a source of relieve for Kallens.

*relief, relieve is a verb

“Torning, Kallens! shut your damn mouths, can’t you see we’re in the middle of a battle!” Sargent Marshall screamed from Kallens’ right.

Kind of thought the same, as you should make communication pretty fast and straightforward on the battlefield for everyone's sake. Anyway, you'll want to capitalize "shut", and sergeant is the correct spelling, although Sargent is also a given name. It's also somewhat strange to see Cortney be referred to by his first name in narration when Kallens is not.

His chestnut brown eyes glared at the two of them and his wrinkles contorted into a face symbolic of his rage.

"Symbolic" doesn't really work here, in my opinion - usually that's meant for cases where the connection isn't obvious, like the blue on a nation's flag symbolizing its beautiful waters or a lion being symbolic of bravery or strength. An angry face pretty directly tells one that the person is angry. I'd go for a phrase like "telling of" or "expressing", though shorter and more to the point would just be to say "his wrinkles contorted into an expression of rage".

Like Cortney, his uniform also had red markings, except there were many more and they seemed to be external, probably from other soldiers rather than his own.

It took me kind of a while to get what "external" meant here, although reading that second sentence I probably should've figured it out sooner.

It was as if an explosion went out inside of Marshall.

I think "went off" is how the phrase goes, though not totally sure.

“Our allies broke through,” the Marshall’s face didn’t reflect his soldiers elation however; instead he looked as grim as ever.

This being punctuated like a dialogue tag doesn't really make sense when it's not one, but a separate sentence on its own talking about another action.

“So then…what do we do?” Kallens ragged voice finally came through the crowd,

Missing an apostrophe after Kallens.

Why was he there? Why was he fighting? Did he feel heroic? Did he feel like he was doing something worthwhile with his life?

His rifle slipped from his grasp, hitting the dirt and falling at his feet.

He’d rather die running back home than die fighting someone else’s war for another minute.

The questions here were actually ones I found myself asking, though somewhat more because I wanted to know why he was here in the first place and how he'd held himself together this far. Learning that would make him fleeing have more weight to it, in my opinion, and knowing what this battle was for in general would make that talk of strategy have more context and meaning to it.

That aside, I do like the end, especially how Kallens' thoughts become somewhat infantile due to his intense mental and physical strain, and the ending lines are poignant. I just feel like that stuff I mentioned prior could have helped make them even more powerful.

The descriptions in the story also seem very fitting for a battlefield and evocative of the chaotic and terrifying nature of war from the frontlines - as far as I know as I've never been to one, thank goodness.

Anyway, since I hadn't properly said it before: welcome to the forum, and I hope you have a good time here.
 
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