As I am writing this, I am in my dugout by a candlelight, perfectly fine. My life has changed immensely. Only a month ago I was sitting at home with my wonderful family. I remember sitting in my chair, excited to sign up for the war. But the reality of war strikes fast and hard. To see your fellow soldiers launch into the nightmare of No Man’s Land and to see them die shortly after is an anguish we have to cope with. Death was as common as birds were in the area. I sometimes wish a bullet would hit me so that I could go back home to be with you both. But, I have a duty to serve and protect my country, and if dying is what is required of my home country, then so be it. Life in the trenches gets harder and longer as time goes on. Free time is as scarce as food these days. I cannot help but think the officers are eating well while we are famished. Meals are a treat we took for granted before: dog biscuits, gruel, and bread is a delight here. At least I will refrain from complaining about your cooking when I come back( I guarantee I will). Trench life seems fun, an experience no man could live without. How noble the people signing up were. I just wish it was true. Rats have also become a major problem in the trenches, they came in millions. The war is a luxury for the rats, free and fresh food all day long, but at night, they surround us. They crawl over us in our sleep and we do not have a pleasant experience when they crawl in over our mouths.Remember that man I wrote about last month? Chris was his name. Well, he died last week. It was not my fault, no matter what anyone says. It happened around three in the morning while we were sitting beside each other against the trench wall. Our backs were against the dark mud, listening to the slapping dollops of cold, wet raindrops splattering on our trenches, and the faint sounds of machine guns above us. I remember the silence when the sounds stopped. A silence so intense I felt like I was drowning as it engulfed us all: as blood pounded through my ears, it was terrifying.I remember blindly running through the heavy snow, breathing in the wretched stench of trench foot and mangled rotting carcasses, buried on the side of the trench along with the mud and debris. I cans still hear my heart pounding as it thudded through the silence and and the shaky breaths of the others around me, fully aware of my lungs and heart and blood, pumping and beating to keep me alive; I knew that if I could no longer hear the sound of my heart beating inside, I would know death had taken me.We always keep our gas masks in a bag over our shoulder. Chris took his off when we had sat down. There was nothing I could do; I could not go to help him. Through the foggy glass holes I watched him twitch and writhing and choking, his eyes rolling, bulging, and popping as he ran towards me in the darkness. Whenever I close my eyes now all I can see are two bulging eyes and a foaming mouth limbing laboriously towards me. I am happy none of you signed up for it is a curse to see your best friend die.