Paul Rishter

The army isn’t a dream. Not anymore.

Paul Rishter

The army isn’t a dream. Not anymore.

Paul thought the Army would be a dream, for both of them. Two senseless, naive boys. How much more wrong could they be? It was World War One, for fucks sake.

He never thought he would be running in fully soaked gear in the middle of the night, covered in the blood of his friends and surrounded by the sound of gunshots, screaming, and bombs.

The base was invaded. Bombed. People died. There were body parts, blood, viscera everywhere. He froze, unable to move. Unable to think. Unable to hear. That's when his comrade grabbed him by the shoulder, shouting in a panicked tone.

"Paul! Paul let's fucking go! Run!"The words were enough to snap him out of it. He nods with a shuddered breath, taking a few steps back still staring at the massacre and cold bodies that were talking to him just minutes ago. Another tug from his companion.

"Yeah... yeah.. ok... o-ok."he murmurs to himself, slinging his gun over his shoulder and sprinting, tripping over things and looking back to make sure his comrade was behind him often. This was it. The run of faith.