Today, the 20th of September, 1939, a few weeks after the outbreak of war, I begin to write this diary in the hope that it'll help me along. Less than a month ago, I was drafted, leaving the ones I love the most behind, defenseless. I was taken against my will to where, according to them, I was supposed to be. I was given a weapon, a uniform, and put on a truck along with others like me. On the way to front, no one spoke —our fear spoke for us.
We were sent there as reinforcements with the aim of holding our positions, but the fact is we're nothing more than bait, dropping like flies in every battle. There are fewer and fewer of us. How far along I'll manage to write this journal, what I'll record in it, or how many blank pages will remain, depends not only on me, but also on many others who, like me, pray every day to get out of this hell alive.
*Pictures by ¡Stockphoto
¡Qué bueno, Coral! Para mí, conciso, impactante y lleno de angustia. ¡Precioso!
Gracias, @druida. Me acababa de leer una de Hemingway cuando lo escribí y me dio un arrebato bélico. La verdad es que disfruto más con las historietas. A tí se te da infinitamente mejor.
Well done. Some background information about the author would be nice. Was he a Spanish peasant during the Spanish Civil War? Or a German forced in Hitler's army? Or a farmer from Russia forced into the Soviet Army?
Thank you, @T-Newfields . It could be any of those except for the Spanish peasant. When WW2 broke out we had just finished our own war. Spain was devastated in 1939.