Utterly Mad

Thomas Thrauns would stand up slowly, a light frown pasting itself on his young and dirty face. He stands at a short 5'4, 130 pounds. He looks down at his feet, shaking his head rhythmically to the pound of shells falling about, each one a whirling siren come to claim lives forever.

His dark brown eyes reach those of his C.O and in that moment a flash of sympathy would flicker into them, sympathy for the poor man who had to write letters of sorrow and death.

He had no one left, no family for a letter to scorch hearts upon,  in a way it was pleasant, no one counted on him anymore, and so his fate felt resigned. Yet, the furlow of his brow told another story, a story of a young man who wanted to return someday, perhaps start his family anew.

"I'll go." He uttered quietly, boldness seeping into his suddenly upright posture. He would go, and hope, and pray.