I cowered in the trench, trying to stop my body from spewing piss, shit and vomit forth from its various apertures. I shivered and tried to pretend that I was cold. Really I was burning with feverish excitement and anxiety. A shouted order permeated through the fog of my ruminations. Petitioning every god I could think of I began to clamber over the top of the trench. I struggled to find a hold for foot or hand and almost gave up, unfortunately a burly NCO helped me up with a: �That�s it, sir. Up and at �em.� Immediately I was pushed back into the trench with what felt like a kick from a mule.
�Hi! What�s the idea?� I called weakly. I could hear the other men moving away, towards the enemy. I lay back, feeling strangely comfortable in the mud and water. For some reason I felt very lethargic, like I was enjoying a lie-in. I could feel sleep dancing around me, waiting to catch me unawares. But something was not quite right, and then I realised. Death was with me, the master of sleep. I had not been pushed, I had been hit. Why hadn�t I realised? I had to escape him, had to find the field hospital, a medic, anything, anything that could help me escape him. I couldn�t go with him, I �. Which way? The trenches seemed different. Or I couldn�t remember their layout. I hauled myself to a seated position, nearly screaming at the pain I only now felt in my gut and shoulder. It wasn�t too bad though, now I knew it was there, now I had its measure, wasn�t too bad. I could feel Death calling me through its alluring sister, Sleep. I lashed out with my fist in a wide arc, so close did it feel, so real. Anything, anything to remove its oppressive influence. I could feel it all around me. Tiger eyes, predator�s eyes watched me.
I stood up slowly, bracing myself against the trench wall. Movement. Vultures leave you alone while you�re moving. I began to determinedly put one foot in front of another. Making a conscious effort to move each leg. Keep thinking, keep moving. Metaphorical vultures leave you alone while your mind is still active. Think about a medal. They�ve got to give me a medal for this. Death�s following me like a bad smell, like a hunter, like a scavenger. Hyena, jackal, vulture! Leave me alone.
I sauntered along the trench, pretending it was The Mall and I was going for my medal. But I could feel Death always at my shoulder, even on The Mall. Perhaps he was disguised as an ordinary man in a suit and bowler hat but he was still there. I didn�t dare turn round but I could picture it. A bowler, an umbrella, a briefcase. A pen-pusher. The ultimate bureaucrat. No-one would notice him but I would know he was there.
I wasn�t on The Mall though, I was in the trench. I stumbled along the trench crying with pain and fear, mostly fear. The pain I could handle. The pain I knew. Death I couldn�t, didn�t. Death dogged my footsteps, snapped at my heels. Tried to get a hold on me. I wouldn�t let it. Terrier, mongrel, mutt. Leave me, Cerberus. Cerberus! Of course, I should have thought of it sooner. Orpheus and Eurydice. If I sang the beast might leave me. What should I sing? It�s a long way to Tipperary, it�s a long �. No that wouldn�t do, can�t remind it that I�m in its domain. In desperation I began to hum some half-remembered Beethoven. Louder and louder to drown out the whispers of Death in my ear, the rushing blood, the vulture�s screech, the hyena�s laugh, the dog�s barking. The hand I had against the wall of the trench supporting me slipped suddenly. I fell. A turn! At last! I had to get further from the front, that was where it held sway. I scrambled up and onwards, round another corner, another. Why isn�t this damned thing straight? Straight away from death.
�Let me take you.� An arm lifted me, supported me. �I�ve got you.� A man with a red cross armband was helping me. He guided me along the trench. �Here we are sir, the dressing station.� I saw pale faces, a pale horse and the one seated upon it had the name Death. I saw dark blood. The stench of death assailed me, coiled around me like a snake. Wrapped itself around me like a living cord.
�No! You snake! It�s you, you�re it!� I pushed him away from me, ashamed I had been so easily taken in. I ran, ignoring the fire raging across my whole left side. Fire and death. I slowed. Gasping for breath. Retching. Stumbling. Falling. Sleep reached up and took me. I could not fight it. They took me as I slept, tied me down. With real cord. In Death�s waiting room. �Next!� I heard them call. �Next!� When would it be my turn? When I was worn down I supposed. I tried my bonds; a fit man could not break them.
I had to keep my mind active, show them I was alive. I was not ready for the vultures. I mentally explored my surroundings, the fire raged unchecked across my side. Sinister fire which burned like hell. My right side seemed well enough. I was on the ground. Death lurked still just out of sight. Get out get out get out! I thought of life, of flowers and children and spring and the flowers wilted when I touched them and the children fell away in fear and the spring changed to winter. The leaves fell from trees and the bare branches were his fingers. It followed me even into the sanctuary of my own mind. A sanctuary now violated, I remembered that temple in Greece on holiday crumbling to dust, open, exposed. That was my mind. Was it really so bad as all that? I thought to myself that life wasn�t much fun just now anyway, with it chasing me. With it stalking me. It would never stop. Perhaps it would be best if I just�No! It was Death whispering to me, tricking me.
Breathing. Blinking. Seeing. Thinking. I couldn�t give up life. Life was�.life. Indescribable, incredible. Life was delicious. Touch, taste, sight, smell, hearing. Millions of wonderful stimuli. Even now, even here. Even the smell of blood and death was life. Even the sounds of pain and fear were life. Everything was life. To be savoured, to be remembered but not dwelt upon. Enjoy every moment. I fell into a happy slumber.
When I woke my vision focussed on a doctor standing over me �...be fine,� he was saying as he smiled down at me. He was wrong I could feel Death still. He lurked nearby, always just out of sight. The doctor asked about my bonds, he was told about my attempt for freedom, for life. Oh dear, he was saying, been out here too long, tipped over the edge, etc, etc. Been out here too long! I�ll stay out here as long as Jerry takes. I just need to be more careful now, watch out.
The doctor was wrong, I was right. I got worse. Death laid hold of me piece by piece. An infection I was told, a piece of bullet left in the wound, irretrievable. My only visitor was Death, he never left my bedside. I saw him clearly. He just watched me, said nothing. No need, now it was inevitable. He had me. He became to my mind what the fragment of bullet was to my body. My mind became infected. I couldn�t think straight. He haunted my imaginings. I lay on my bed and cried and screamed and hollered. In my mind I did the same. I wandered through landscapes transfigured by his presence, his all-pervasion. Memories became nightmarish. Things that never happened did. Things that happened never did. I was alone. Except for him. Except for Death. Death was all that I had left. Straining. Crying. Weeping. Convulsing. Raging. Gnashing. Wailing. I fought it. I fought it. I refused to be taken, I fought relentlessly. I fought it for fighting�s sake, no longer able to remember life and unwilling to enter Death.
Although I left that dressing station, I never left Death�s waiting room. I never left. When Death wants you, it will take you. I died a mental death. My body lived. But I was dead to the world, caught in tortuous nightmares. Games. I was an infernal plaything. I was a damned toy. The temple in Greece on holiday was my only possible refuge, I rebuilt it slowly in snatched breaks. When it was finished I could be free. From in there I could begin to reorder my mind. It�s nearly finished.