Creative Writing: All Quiet On The Western Front

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The cold, south wind screamed and smashed at the soldier’s face. The sky was covered with tumultuous, dark clouds cunningly moving closer to each other before releasing a sudden shower. A scar of radiant light illuminated the pagan-black sky and a thunder approached with an aggressive pace. The battlefield had turned into a theatre of death, filled up with groaning and bawling sounds, as the soil became slippery with sludge.
The soldier found himself surrounded by haunting cries of pain. His heart was pounding rapidly against his rib cage as he ran across the muddy field. His breath was trapped within his lungs, struggling to escape the prison of his broad chest. His spiky brown hair was covered in mud and the long scar on his forehead made youth and innocence seem like a distant dream, far too impossible to reach. The soldier’s teeth chattered and his spine tingled in fear, while cold sweat was rolling down his forehead and onto his pale cheeks. His dark khaki uniform battling against his wearied body had turned his skin raw. Drops of terror filled the soldier’s deep blue eyes, eager to run down his ashen face, as if realizing the danger and searching for an escape route that could never come into sight. As he stumbled across the sodden earth, head-clasping images of horror overflowed his veins with poignant misery.
Sobs of anguish and despair fiercely attacked his ears as he spotted a young soldier lying on the stony ground. Deafening yelps and whimpers escaped from his

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