Under the Poppy Field.

by Charlotte Pomeroy-Aldridge aged 13

This is a story about a gun, a gun created for war, to kill.  This was based in 1914
during the First World War.

I lay in a poppy field, deep in the mud.
It’s been over a hundred years since the war now
and I still remember when Gerald picked me up for the first time.
I thought it was a dream come true.
I was wrong.

Gerald took me to the camp
to wait for war to begin.
He lay me next to him when he slept for protection.
I felt a hero, a saviour, a champion.
I might have been protecting my soldier
but I was the one responsible for numbers of deaths.

One time the Germans leaked gas into the trenches.
There was a lot of panicking and soldiers yelling
“Put your mask on.” Many of Gerald’s friends didn’t make it.

The next day was war.
As we all got ready saying our prayers,
prayers of hope.
Gerald was at the front,
but all I remember was him running and me killing.
All my life waiting for this moment
but actually living the moment
wasn’t as joyous as I had dreamed.
Gerald charging at the Germans,
shooting people to the ground,
falling to the ground,
being trampled into the mud, dropping me.

Now I lay next to Gerald,
under the Poppy field.

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