When The Clock Struck 13 6th April 1917. The sound of the explosions were deafening, me and my platoon were huddling up in a small bunker. The stench of body odour and taste of fear prevalent. I kept to my own little corner, my antique mattress and a few cans of beans I’d saved up was all I had. Yet I was lucky some other people were lying on the floor malnourished and hopeless. I checked my only valuable thing; a clock I received from my father when I was younger and it was midnight. Next to me was my friend, I met him at the beginning of the war. He was a ferocious fighter but often mistreated by the others because of his quietness. Sweat was trickling down him in rivulets and his hands trembled with each explosion. I wanted to comfort him but I didn’t have the energy. ‘Phil, it’s your turn up’, the captain said to me in an exhausted, raspy voice. His face is dotted with countless wrinkles and his hands a map. As I left the pathetic settlement, anxiety filled me and the taste of fear was potent. As I moved through the cramped trenches to my machine gun, endless injured people were being carried out in grimy makeshift boards. People were sleeping on top of crates and no one spoke. No one cared about each other. I grabbed the rusty handles and checked the land. Nothing. All there was an eerie mist filled with forgotten souls. The soil was muddy, destroyed by the tracks of boots. The explosions had come to a halt now. It was rare for them to stop but I guessed they’d run out of bombs. The sky was a juxtaposition, the matte black sky was ethereal, stars danced in peace and unification. The moon stood as still as a statue protecting all the fortunate stars. The stars got to shine, they were protected… they were cared for. Tick tick, my clock continued to tick each time emitting a shrill noise. Any noise made by anyone sliced through the stagnant air filled with forgotten laughs, forgotten people. It made me remember something: my family. I’d forgotten my family during the war. My family was a part of me and I felt as if I lost myself. Suddenly, my thoughts were disturbed by the ear-penetrating sound of an explosion. It sounded as if it were behind me. For a moment my hearing was impaired and fear overwhelmed me. Fear took over me. After the bombs, came the shouting. First, from the other side than my side. Within a few minutes tens and tens of soldiers had manned the slopes of the trenches. Each soldier was the same; rage boiling in their eyes, brains manipulated by war. The shouting from the other side took me back to my childhood rugby, when we’d act like cavemen but now there was a lot more on the lines than a plastic trophy. The gunshots began, ringing on both sides of my ear. The air became thick with shouts and the sound of whistles screeching. They were like zombies, I saw many of them get shot yet still run. Their faces were crimson red like their blood. Their mouths were small and eyes big. My thoughts were soon interrupted by something that sent electricity through me. ‘CHARGE!’ hailed a commander from afar. People began to run into the field lasting only a few seconds before being torn down like a meat grinder factory. However, something about the desperation of the command triggered something in me. A surge of energy and for a moment I felt electricity. I began darting across the field, bayonet in hand. I didn’t know if I could kill, I’d never kill anyone before but I felt confident. For a few seconds I was ecstatic. I felt unstoppable, the people around me had fallen but not me. I was the chosen one. I had glory and could shine like the stars! First, it was the person to my left, he got torn down by a machine gunner. Blood splattered out and he couldn’t even scream. Then it was the person to my right, a singular bullet to the head and he collapsed onto the rich soil. A few seconds later, I fell. A bullet to the heart. I collapsed, I couldn’t breathe. I wasn’t in pain, nothing physical. My vision was gradually blurring, the smell of blood rushing into my nostrils. Blood was gurgling out of me like a broken bottle of water. I knew I had no hope. I didn’t have the energy to continue to fight instead I lied down. It took me back to my childhood when I would stargaze with my Dad. The stars remained beautiful in my final moments though. I slowly closed my eyes and took one last colossal breath. Tick, tick. It became silent after a while and my clock from my father struck 13. Two days later, the clock struck 36, another week went by and it was 204 now. A year later and it was 500. I’d like to consider myself a man of principle. I joined my military as my father advised and died in the same noble way he did.