This week’s it’s my pleasure to welcome a very talented writer to my guest spot. Alyson Faye has written a beautifully atmospheric story. First, she shares a bit about herself:
Originally I trained as a teacher/tutor who wrote children’s books/poetry as a hobby. A novel for children, ‘Soldiers in the Mist’ was published by CollinsEducational 1n 1996. Fast forward to 2016 where I now live near Bronte terrain in West Yorkshire with my partner, teen son and 3 rescue cats. I write mainly noir Flash Fiction,( quite a lot of is published on line) spooky tales and children’s books. My story for teens ‘The Nearly Boy’ is available on www.alfie.dog. I am currently working on publishing ‘The Runaway Umbrella’ on Kindle in the next few months. My hobbies include singing, swimming and cinema. I am a confirmed chocoholic who’s still hopeless at maths.
You can read more about me and my fiction at www.alysonfayewordpress.wordpress.com
Cannon Fodder by Alyson Faye
The gnawing started as soon as night fell; incisors clicking, feet scurrying overboth the dead and live bodies indiscriminately. The rats feasted. There wasn’t much you could do about it. The living had nowhere to escape to anyway. Their living quarters were awash with mud, corpses and spent bullet cases. There was no colour anywhere in these French fields. The landscape was an unadulterated brown. Its horizons punctuated by wire fences. At night the blackness was rent by the sound of men’s moaning.
Private Bill Mason sucked heavily on his cigarette. Huddled down in his trench,he was soaked through. The lice itched his scalp. It had been a day to end all days- a living hell. The enemy’s Howitzers had hammered away for hours. Mason’s ears rang, constantly.
He didn’t know what to write home. There were no words to describe what hislife had become. Writing and words had never been his strength, instead he’d been good at making things.
Bloody useless in this war though, he thought. When all any man could do was watch everything and everyone be pulverised.
‘My dearest Lily… It is night now. I can see hundreds of stars. It is quiet enough. I miss you, your cooking, our…’
Mason absent mindedly rubbed his right foot. The stub of his big toe buzzed,with phantom energy. He’d lost it a few months back. Frostbite, gangrene, the usual. He was lucky though he knew. It was just his toe. So far.
He felt his eyes fill. He swallowed hard. You had to get a hold of feelings, else they’d be your undoing. He’d seen men dragged away, gibbering.
‘When I get home Lily, I’m going to make you that dresser you always wanted.’
Mason contemplated the planing of the hardwood under his hands. Recalled the wood’s smell and his Lily’s face.
He would not think about tomorrow.
If you’d like to appear in my Guest Writer Spot, please contact me here or by e-mail: firstname.lastname@example.org. I accept stories, poems, articles – in fact, anything and everything. All you have to do is make sure your prose is no longer than 2000 words and your poems no more than 40 lines.