Dear Diary,
Only 7 days have past and 36 men have died, and there are no more grenades so we started making more out of spare cans! The enemy are also gassing us with this stuff that turns your skin yellow, that would be a horrible death so we hold urine soaked cloths over our faces to stop that happening. I have felt how painful it is to shot in the limbs, it’s just horrible having blood gushing out of your legs and arms. I felt so sorry for the guy next to me that had his head blown off by a Mosin Nagant, and then a guy got shot in ‘no man’s land’ and survived but then stabbed by a bayonet, another guy James. I ran over to recover the body but it got blown up by artillery.
War is a horrible place, Diary you're my only friend, I might not make it home alive. The other soldiers treat me like a 6 year old because I’m not a hardened man yet. It’s getting very late eight at night I’m pretty sure so I will end this entry here.
Day 23
Dear Diary,
I’ve caught a severe case of trench foot and hepatitis from all the bodies and my trigger finger got shot off, I won't make it any longer, my name is Jhonson Bagette, then BANG! I felt a sharp pain in my chest and head, then everything went black, dead.
*This is being read by Barry Bagotte, Jhonson’s Grandson in a first person point of view.
I like how you told the reader how many people died and I liked how your character died in the end. I think you could do next time is maybe you could at moor informant about your character
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