I watched the massive silver rat scuttle along the filthy, muddy base of the trench, finally resting upon the body of a Canadian soldier. It had recently rained, so I stumbled back to my post through the deep narrow ditch with my Lee Enfield Rifle slung across my back, gazing at the large, fresh shelled holes that had exploded the day before, leaving the distinguishable scent of cordite lingering in the air. I thought, "This has been my life for the past month."

My home had become a cramped, mucky, and inhospitable enclave that I dug myself. Since then it reeked of cigarettes and the stench of urine, and although it gave no warmth during the night, I could occasionally manage to sleep when the god Ares was not shooting fire from the sky. The shelling had been relentless horror, the screams from my fellow soldiers were like nails screeching on a chalkboard. They echoed throughout the battlefield, and the constant fear of dying tore me up from the inside. It seemed like a nightmare, my routine everyday consisted of staring through a periscope for hours on end observing the enemy and analyzing their movements. 

The blow that extinguished my fire was trench foot. My feet had started to turn a disgusting blood red and deep sea blue, and they felt numb from the brown, watery sludge that entered into my boots while living in this hole. If I was able to catch some shut-eye, I would have cried myself to sleep.

It was Wednesday, April 9th, 1917 at 07:00. The lads and I were in our trench, waiting for the captain's signal to charge over the ridge into no-man's land.

"So why is it called no-man's land anyways?" said William.

"It's in the name you idiot! You venture into the land where no men go willingly, and you get your head popped off by the lads in the other trench!" said Cole.

"Well I guess if you put it that way, then it makes total sense," said William.

The corner of my mouth bent upwards into a subtle smirk.

"You're such a basket case Willy… What do you think, Jackson?" said Cole.

"To be honest, I think you both are full of it!" I joked.

William burst out laughing like a dying goat, and Cole gave me a stone cold stare that said, "Oh, you're gonna get it."

In this time of life and death, we were still screwing around. We were all quite on edge for what was about to come, so breaking the ice helped. That's why I enjoyed these guys' company so much.

Cole and I grew up together in Halifax. Our families were always close, although we were an odd duo. I was the intelligent, quiet, but courageous sprout, and he was the massive, bold-tempered flame. He loomed over me like the Eiffel Tower, with obsidian hair and lapis lazuli eyes, as well as his signature broken nose. Despite our differences, we were always inseparable and his affection for our companionship got me out of a lot of trouble when we were younger. Since then we went from playing war in my backyard, to enlisting at 18, thrilled to serve Canada, starting with military training in Valcartier, Quebec. There we met William, a daft fellow with gingerbread curls and emerald eyes who never thought to think before he talked. We shared some memorable experiences together during training forming a strong sense of comradery between the three of us. 

Those three months were the first time in my life that I felt truly relaxed, content and free, but also the last time that I was Jackson Palmer, a teenager from Halifax.

"Just calm down Cole, save the fight for the boys in the enemy trench," I laughed.

"You're right, maybe I should go beat some heads together to blow off some steam. Great thinking Jackson!" Cole said sarcastically.

William sighed, "Oh please, keep your ballsy temptations to yourself or you're gonna get yourself killed."

"You do know we're on the same team here right?" I said to Cole.

"Obviously, I was just trying to rally the troops!" he said in a teasing tone, and started to snicker.

I just shook my head in amusement. Suddenly, I heard the distinctive click of a thousand magazines being loaded into their semi-automatic chambers, and someone howling orders that sounded like a tiger's roar.

"BATTLE FORMATION! RIFLES UP! 2ND CANADIAN DIVISION READY ON MY MARK!"

This was it. The battle for Vimy Ridge was about to begin. Not only did this high ground hold tactical significance in winning the great war, it was also quite the view from the top; at least that's what the French boys said. Vibrant rolling hills of green, and radiant poppies...when the landscape was not a battlefield. And although I had been in a couple of skirmishes and bombardments before, none of them had got my heart pounding out of my chest like this one. We got into our positions, and then I went motionless. The butterflies in my stomach felt like they were eating their way out as I dug my feet into the trench wall, hot anvil and ice cube cold sweat was dripping down the sides of my cherry cheeks as I checked that my rifle was loaded and held it at my chest. I looked over at my friends, they were both shaking like a violent earthquake, so I gave them nods that said, "Good luck. It's going to be alright." In my case, I was practically peeing myself in anxiety and so uncertain of my fate that all the noises in the countryside of France disappeared. 

Then it happened in a flash. The captain's whistle shrieked, and mud was kicked in all directions as every soldier charged over the ridge, except for me. I remained frozen in place, like my body had hit the off switch and was no longer operational. Just then, the ground outside of the trench was engulfed by a fierce inferno of artillery fire from above, and my face was thrown down into the mud by an invisible force. My eardrums had just been slapped with cymbals, and screeching rebounded through my body.  Disoriented, I tried to find cover. My only reaction was to curl up into a ball screaming for a very long and traumatizing five minutes while the ground under me was repeatedly beaten by a man-made killing machine. 

When I opened my eyes, all I saw were soldiers splayed about in the bottom of the trench. My hand searched for something for support, and found a leg. Stunned, I jumped up, practically deaf, and staggered around the trench tripping and falling all over the place, adrenaline pumping through my body, petrified, shocked, and unable to understand what was happening. Then my frightened eyes rested upon the two deceased bodies of my closest friends, hugging each other. Bodies torn to pieces by bullets and shrapnel. My heart stopped, I turned a ghostly white, I dropped to my knees, and began to wail.

I woke up with a sudden jerk, heart racing, and cold sweat in my brow. I no longer was in the trench, but the feeling was the same. Unsettled, I got dressed and went to fetch myself some breakfast downstairs in my family home.

 It had been one and a half months since I lost all sense of humanity. I thought once I got back, all my memories would just disappear, but it actually got worse. After I collapsed on the battlefield, they shipped me back to Canada indefinitely. The doctors said that I was 'unstable', which didn't help the fact that I could vividly remember everything I'd seen. 

I hauled my lifeless body downstairs and began preparing some eggs and toast. When I finished, I sat down in our smooth walnut chairs, and picked up my immaculate set of polished silverware. It was still an unbelievable change from the chunky pea soup, horse meat, and stale bread from what seemed like yesterday.

"Good morning Jackson," my Mom said tiredly as she walked into the kitchen.

"Hey Ma," I responded with my mouth full of egg yolk.

"How are you feeling this morning? Did you have any more nightmares?"

"No," I lied.

"Well that's good news for this morning!" she said as she finished spreading golden caramelized honey on toast.

"Yeah I guess so," I took another few bites. "Hey Ma-"

"Alright sweetie, I'm gonna head out to buy some groceries, I'll see you tonight at the family picnic," she yelled as she headed out the door with breakfast in hand. "Oh, and get a haircut too, you look like a woolly mammoth!"

"Okay" I sighed.

There was no point. I had been battling these feelings for a long time now, and no matter what I or anyone else did to try and help it, nothing made a difference. My parents tried to have me see a doctor, but he did not appreciate what I had been through. It seemed no one could replicate the pain and suffering that I relived everyday. Like this morning. My nightmare was just endless excruciating sounds of Cole and William screaming and crying for help, and my heart beat resembled the continuous eruptions of shells imploding in my mind, giving me a migraine. The dull throb was like a knife sticking into my skull. 

After breakfast I went for a long walk to get some air. It was summer time, so the speckled ospreys were flying about, and nature was at its peak. The lush red pines gave off their signature refreshing, citrusy scent, and the blades of grass were like those found on the pristine fairways of golf courses. But my favourite place to be was by the sea. I sat down on a bench overlooking the harbour. The rich salty air floated into my nostrils, and the crisp ocean breeze relaxed my nerves. The only other place that I felt this calm was when I was at training in the presence of Cole and William. "Stop thinking about them," I told myself. And with that thought I got off the bench and headed towards the barber shop.

"What haircut do you want?" the barber asked.

"I don't know, can you do a buzz cut?"

"Sure can."

The last time I got a haircut, the private at Valcartier took a razor and plowed through my hair like it was a snowplow. The guys and I enjoyed it short. Short hair provided physical freedom. The chilled blades felt good along my stubbled head, and afterwards we would have a laugh and William would make some crack about Cole's hairline. I chuckled.

"So how are you doing?" the barber asked in a rehearsed tone.

"You know what, I'm actually not feeling too good right now," I tentatively opened with.

"And why's that?" he responded.

"I feel lost, in a foreign place, although what's strange is that that place is home. I went away for a while, and when I came back, everything felt different, and the people I love the most are distant. I'm always looking over my shoulder, and even now I am uncomfortable talking to you about this stuff.  The thought of opening up about my experiences to you raises the hairs on the back of my neck," I explained.

"Well I want you to know...you're not the first person to come in here and tell me something similar. What I think you should consider is to find a job where you can be yourself with people who know and trust you. Then you might find a way to fit in and feel you can be a part of something."

I paused before I answered, "Thanks for listening, what you shared makes sense. I'll think about what you've said."

A couple hours later I was sitting having a drink at the neighbourhood picnic. Even though there were some many old friends and people I recognized, the only one I didn't see was Cole. He should've been here, enjoying time with his loved ones. But no, although he died with one of his best friends, he will never experience love again. I just sat at the table drinking my soda, studying the crowd of men and women who talked and ate, and never glanced over to me to ask how I was doing. It was like I was invisible. The chatting I overheard about baseball games and sales at grocery stores was so unfamiliar. I felt out of place. The simplicity of a normal conversation sounded outrageous to a man who spent time killing other men for survival.  

I couldn't reconcile what I was feeling inside with the boredom of the picnic. I abruptly got up and headed into the forest as my mom called after me asking where I was going and telling me that I was being rude to our neighbours.  

My Dad followed me after a couple of minutes. I was losing it. The battle for my sanity.

"What's going on Jackson? You've been freaking me and Mom out for a long time now, and your actions confuse everyone. Why can't you just be normal?" he said in an authoritative voice.

That was it for me, "Do you realize what it's like to hide while your best friends are getting blasted into oblivion!? No, you don't. So don't come out here to me and talk like you understand how I feel right now! I have been through more scarring experiences than you ever will, and it is shocking to me that you think I am doing this to be difficult." 

His face was somber. The ominous shadows under his eyes strained.

I started to tear up. 

"I am in pain every day. It's almost like I never left that trench Dad! I still get flashbacks of artillery strikes and hear bullets zipping over my head. Not to mention that I almost died." 

I was numb as these last couple of words came out of my mouth. My body vibrated excessively, and I felt a rush of strong emotion. My Dad looked at me in sincere disbelief, uncertain what to do or say. I realized he was not in a position to help me. I shook my head, turning quickly and started to run home.

The next day, after brunch at Joe's diner, while I was walking home thinking about yesterday's  revelation, I ran into my old childhood neighbour Richard. 

"Hey Ricky, how are you doing?" I said.

"Hey Jackson! I'm doing well. Actually I'm about to ship out to the western front in one month's time; you can probably tell by my olive fatigues," Richard said excitedly.

I didn't know whether to be happy for him or tell him the harsh truth.  

"Sounds like an adventure. I've been there though, and it's not all as thrilling as the postcards say," my throat was dry. "I lost two of my friends fighting.  And I have to say, even though I departed from the war, I really never left the larger battle. Some of my experiences were memorable; there are ones that have become a part of who I am today," I said honestly.

Richard went quiet for a moment, reacting to my honesty. 

"All right then, I'll keep that in mind," And then he paused and added, "I'm sorry for your loss," Richard said sincerely.  Then he continued off on his way.

I paused and reflected on our conversation. Seeing a kid like Richard reminded me of myself a year earlier. Proud to be serving and ready to put in the effort. Talking to a fellow soldier made me realize that my life would never be the same outside of the service. This was a new truth for me. I carried on my walk, back to the water and harbour again.

Later that night at dinner my family ate in silence. Everyone caught up in their own thoughts and emotions as to what was unfolding.  I realized that this 'normal' wasn't where I had landed. It wasn't anyone's fault, but I needed to face this new reality.  

"Mom and Dad, I'm sorry for putting you in this spot. I know you love me and want the best for me, but I'm feeling that everyday society is something that I can't adjust to as easily as I thought I could." 

They looked at each other and were quiet. So I kept going, "I ran into Richard from high school today and he is where I was a year ago. He made me remember why I enlisted in the first place. And although I have seen the brutal reality of war, I also formed many special relationships and unique bonds with my brothers. I think if I re-enlist, I could potentially protect kids like Richard. I had a good talk with the barber, and he told me to find someplace where I could contribute and be myself. And when I think about it, I feel the most comfortable when I am in service to my fellow soldiers who I trust and relate to.  We have a shared experience and I think I can help those who are new to it, like Richard. It may be a way to regain my humanity."

I stopped there and my Mom was crying, and nodding. My Dad was quiet, but his demeanour expressed that he finally understood what I just said.

A couple days later, I was in line at the military depot outside of Valcartier ready to re-enlist. The strong smell of black coffee filtered through the office, and the amount of young innocent faces I saw made me feel old. I stepped onto the shabby scale, and heard the pencil slither across the doctor's fitness examination paper. Then I was handed the same generic, olive green fatigues as everybody else, and treated as an equal. I never thought that I would end up here again, getting ready to die for the second time. The war inside of me had subsided since I stepped into the depot. I think I knew what was expected of me this time. I still felt sick and terrified of the consequences of war, but now I was familiar with my surroundings. It was my job here to conquer the visions that were holding me back and make sure that Cole and William didn't die for nothing. It was getting easier to accept that war was the only thing I knew anymore.