The sludge clung to every gap. The constant deafening rattle of artillery in the distance was a grim harbinger that life here was tenuous. We huddled together, hoping for strength in each other's presence. The quiet between the barrages of fire was more terrifying than the chaos itself. Every whisper could be an enemy, every shadow a hidden sniper.
Sounds from the Trenches
The muck clung to every crack. The constant shrill rattle of artillery in the distance was a grim reminder that life here was tenuous. We huddled together, trying for strength in each other's company. The quiet between the barrages of fire was more soul-crushing than the chaos itself. Every sound could be an threat, every shadow a hidden assailant.
Sounds from the Hellholes
The muck clung to every crevice. The constant deafening rattle of artillery in the distance was a grim harbinger that life here was precarious. We huddled together, trying for solace in each other's presence. The silence between the barrages of fire was more terrifying than the chaos itself. Every noise could be an threat, every shadow a hidden sni