World War 2 Suicide note

The note....

You see my body hanging. Maybe you want to hear my story, maybe not, but here it is.

Suddenly, I was fighting for survival. Stray bullets flying past; shouting men were screaming. Some of us survived the walk.

The walk, the walk was like walking into burning hell, bullets flying past. We were not allowed to run. Friends vanished, they were there, and then they weren't. Shells dropped everywhere, bombs went off. I made it.

I got there I started firing, shooting and shooting. We had to push them back. Just as we sat down to rest, there was a shout of "Gas!" I scrambled to my gas mask as it came overhead; most of us never got to fire our rifles. We heard shells from above. They landed behind us, a "Sigh" of relief... And then it began again...

The Germans were already trying to take back the trench and started to fire a fusillade at us. They fired strays trying to hit anyone who popped their head up. The man next to me quickly looked up. Bang. He was gone. When I heard them stop firing. I fired, I shot the German murderer at that gun, but it didn't change anything.

The guns and shells didn't stop for days, but one day they stopped and when it did hundreds of Gerries came running at us.

I fired my rifle across no man's land hitting a man in his leg, and then suddenly, where the man fell, a land mine went off. I fired and fired; men fell to my rifle. But then a shell fell next to me about five meters away. I lost my left arm. Blood poured out all over the wet mushy dirt. The pain was overwhelming, but I pulled myself together and with my right arm, I fired my rifle. With the pain slowly creeping upon me I was trying to keep my post. That's the last thing I remember...

Unbelievably, a medic came to my aid. I was taken back behind our lines to a medical camp. What I saw at this medical camp I could not forget. While I was there, I tried to help with my right arm, I was in pain but I put that out of mind, as I tried to give comfort to those who needed it, those who had lost legs, arms.

Helping them drink, eat and writing letters for them was an escape. Being there for them, made me feel better. I learned some first aid skills for times of need but more and more people came. It was like a butchers.

One man came in without arms and legs - he was in so much pain and shock. Many men didn't make it, there was always a stream of wagon's with bodies in going by.

I noticed, one day, that one of the men in the wagon had been behind me in the line at the recruitment office. He was so young - he was only fifteen I say.

After six months of being at this camp, I had to go, I had to go back, away from the war, from the front line, from death, from helping.

I came back. No one was waiting for me. A few people were waiting for their family. But not one for me... only four men came off the boat with me.

I got a job; hopefully, it will take my mind off them watching. It was good pay just enough to pay for what I need in this world of grey. All I did was go home, then to work and back again. Weeks went by. I knew that people laughed at me behind my back; I was happier working and helping at the frontline. Helping hurt soldiers made me feel a part of it. Why did I have to leave? I can't walk to work without being looked at and at work they always stare. I think they are going to fire me soon because I can't do much work with one arm. I just want it to all stop, all of it.

So that's my story. Forgive me for giving up -