WW1 Creative Writing

The day I was given the week leave I wasn’t really sure how I felt. I was excited to go home and see my whole family, but I knew it would be only for a short time. I also didn’t know how I would be welcomed home because I remember all the propaganda and white feathering. Nonetheless I was excited.

When I first walked through the door of the home I had spent so much time in as a child it hit me right away. The pressure of having to leave; trying to be brave for my family; and realizing the fact that I might never see them again.

I watched as my mother opened the door from her room and broke down in tears when she saw my face.

“Spencer, is it, is it, r-r-realy you?" She whimpered.

I struggle to say “Yes mom”.

She then came running over to me and gave me a big hug. I was on the verge of breaking down myself. Everything I’ve seen over these last few hard years. I’ve seen death; I’ve forced death upon others. It’s been awful really. Horrible. I can barely stand up at this point all the emotion flooding into my mind at that very moment. I can’t show the emotion. I can’t show what I’ve been through. I must not show weakness

I couldn’t stand being in the house. I need a walk. I had never seen the city this empty. The busy streets that were once full of people and shops was now a ghost town with few to no people on the streets. The propaganda posters flooded the walls. “FALL IN. ANSWER NOW IN YOUR CONTRY’S HOUR OF NEED” one said. I remember seeing those and getting all excited to go to war. Now I can’t believe that I was excited for it.

As I walk down the street an old lady approaches me she says “Is the war over?”

“No mam” I sadly say.

“Then why are you home” She asks...